Lines To Be Embroidered On A Bib

The Child Is Father Of The Man, But Not For Quite A While

So Thomas Edison
Never drank his medicine;
So Blackstone and Hoyle
Refused cod-liver oil;
So Sir Thomas Malory
Never heard of a calory;
So the Earl of Lennox
Murdered Rizzio without the aid of vitamins or calisthenox;
So Socrates and Plato
Ate dessert without finishing their potato;
So spinach was too spinachy
For Leonardo da Vinaci;
Well, it's all immaterial,
So eat your nice cereal,
And if you want to name your ration,
First go get a reputation.

poem by Ogden Nash
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The Draft #3

Sometimes i become afraid of myself because my anger brings danger. Its like this almost infinite power that's just rushing through my forearms just as popeye; my anger being the fuel like the can of spinach. Suddenly i become blind to the world as i'm faced with the images of the past. Now, i'm reliving it and feeling all the pain and then suddenly, i find myself drained of all energy, thoughts, and common sence. I'm finding my lack of self quite mordant although i'm morbid

poem by Chris Solomon
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Mr Curry Delight

Yum, yummy
O! My tummy
Mr. Curry Delight

Now I fight
For my right
Mouthwatering tasty dishes
Incredible vegetable species
O! Mr. Chef
Mr. Curry Delight
Yum, Yummy
Hear my tummy
Common hurry!
Or be sorry

Hmmm, what’s cooking?
Aromatic spices stewing
Spinach & vegetable brewing
In bucolic style
Chopped onions & tomatoes

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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Seduced

Cheerios with bursting cinnamon dust,
Over sliced banana in a bowl of soy milk,
Breakfast is served.

Succulent sautéed shrimp over angel hair,
With melting mozzarella in a white plate,
Lunch is served.

Romaine spinach dressed with vinegarette,
Cherry tomatoes, raisins, pineapple cubes,
Dinner is served.

Then she sensed creamy caramel macchiato,
That’s calling for her not too far from home,
Starbucks is there.

Amaretto Cheesecake with Madeliene Crust,
Staring at her in an eyeful blast of seduction,
She checked in.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Bride Of Brent

Unlike Lucia from far Lammermoor,
fair Linda, hailing from chill Chamounix,
excels when she’s preparing salmon or
deep-frying spuds and spinach that aren’t gammony.

She tried to keep the frog which wooing went
outside the net she guarded as a goalie
till she became the Bride of River Brent
and played the role of Princess Rowley-Powley.

The frog, he always used to say “Heigh-ho! ”
because he knew that he could never find a
more lovely princess once she’d kissed him so
he was more charmed than Chamounix by Linda.

6/5/06

poem by Gershon Hepner
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There’s something in the rain

There’s something in the rain
that makes my plants jump
and there are beans
growing in a row in stools
and tomatoes that stand around in small bushes
and beetroot everywhere
and there are carrots
growing between the other vegetables
and onions pushing out fingers
like grasses,
but the spinach
fills the whole place
and at the end of the garden
there’s parsley coming out in places.

At times I wonder if the Creator
is also as happy and excited
about His earth
and if everything
makes a impact in his heart

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Muscle

I got a popeye muscle
Although I'm not a sailor man
And I don't eat much spinach
At least not out of a can.

My name is not Olive
It isn't Bluto either
I know instead of lifting
I should've used a lever.

My popeye muscle looks swell
Just like I've been working out
But it's just the one arm you see
Which leaves a little doubt.

And it may not be clear to you
This was my biggest ordeal
I did it with great fervour
And enthusiastic zeal.

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poem by Hazel Connelly
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Anthony and Cleopatra

A wrinkle poked his sodding alchemy
Bereft of reason and the truth of ships
But nothing pirouettes in blank sausages
As Antony kisses Cleopatra on the lips.

They went out late last night, clubbing in Alexandria
And Cleopatra was wearing her fishnet tights,
Antony wanted to get her somewhere quiet,
He didn't want to get involved in any fights.

He's got this paranoid fear of Caesar
Because Julius wants to rule the earth,
But perhaps if Cleopatra helps him
He'll show his enemies what he's really worth.

Past ruined palaces of fevered brow
The carved spinach of his twisted dreams
Erupts like ivory in trembling snow
And catches tigers in their early schemes.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The problem's in the knowin

I just might have a big problem
in doin’ what’s exactly right
Even tho’ I pretty much try
with all of my doggone might

Seem’s as if It’s in the knowin’
That I lack some social graces
And my embarrassment keeps ashowin’ up
Like spinach stuck in your braces

Hell, I’m not a bad guy
I won’t tell you that you’re fat
That you’re so far over the hill
That you’ll never make it back

I might slip up
and tell a friend
Then he might tell
someone too
Then sure enough …

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poem by David Whalen
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The greatest thing

I put the seed
into ground that I
mingled with dark black compost.

Rows of beans,
some carrots, some pumpkins
and spinach
I sowed into the orange brown earth.

Some small tomato plants,
I planted in blocks
and pressed small
frames of reeds
on top
for them to crawl over.

Every day I sprayed water
and tended the weeds
and in time
little green plants

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Language

Languages are spoken by the masses,
Sought by the fame and religion,
Equal to noone but the classes,
Abject are they who control the origin.

Sell the message I speak for a fiver,
In the form of words excellent;
I derive these solutions to the screwdriver,
In face of fodder of the livestock over violent.

I am farmed but farmer who speaks only,
Does not write but righteously speak,
Only to damn the animals that are lonely,
The lonely are the very dying cheek.

Language is the most dreaded monster,
One of them is in the museum,
Offer it a letter of a barrister
So that laws are in the atom.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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The Lady With The Sewing-Machine

Across the fields as green as spinach,
Cropped as close as Time to Greenwich,

Stands a high house; if at all,
Spring comes like a Paisley shawl —

Patternings meticulous
And youthfully ridiculous.

In each room the yellow sun
Shakes like a canary, run

On run, roulade, and watery trill —
Yellow, meaningless, and shrill.

Face as white as any clock's,
Cased in parsley-dark curled locks —

All day long you sit and sew,
Stitch life down for fear it grow,

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poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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My Kidney, Stoned

Oh the pain, the pain
nearly drove me insane
never felt pain as this

I was stoned literally, stoned
from the bladder up to the kidney
Oh woe! was me

twenty four hours
I lay there in a bed
lovely nurses galore

though their luscious, insidious beauty
did me no good
blinking my eyes to wish the pain away
if I only could

plenty of morphine to ease this drought
' till the next morn
I did roam

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poem by Matt Mondschein
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Guitarra Portuguesa

in the cafe
Carlos Paredes held the Portuguese
guitar – walnut wood – the body
of Lisbon – with twelve strings
his fingers emulated rain

across the room a woman began
dancing –
the fingerpicking and figueto
described her movements –
the underwater sway
of sea grass –
I was submerged

her figure haunted every glass
of water or wine

her shadow drifted through the welter
of candlelight
on the adobe walls

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poem by Michael Spring
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Who You Think You Is

who you think you is,
fool with a big crown look,
tequila on the ice,
we come steal your queen man,
she goes to vocational school,
usual I'm warm-hearted,
but walk-the-plank man,
teach you never touch my mother again,
I'll be playing the xylophone,
yester-day was yester-eveing,
you have a problem disbelieving,
fool who you think you is,
I make you walk the street,
let you smell the vapor,
from her woman part,
you gonna need,
a umbrella to go under that waterfall,
best upholstery in the house,
say white-house mouse,
dude ugly-duckling tycoon,

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poem by Tommy Laster
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Roly-Poly Lover

I have a roly-poly lover
and her name is Two Ton Tess.
When she hugs me,
she squeezes me half to death.
It is like getting a hug
from a giant grizzly bear.
Her muscles are as big as Popeye’s
with the spinach she devours.
When friends ask me why I date a sumo wrestler
I simply reply. She is my Two Ton Tess,
my big, big lass.
Last week she stopped a locomotion
as she bent over on the tracks.
When the conductor asked what she was doing.
Tess quickly replied
I lost a penny somewhere and I was looking for it there.
She had the reputation
of being the strongest girl around
and I will vouch for that.
She was and she still is

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poem by David Harris
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A Beef Steak

i know you have decided to take the
code of the vegetarian
in the party
the host is warned to serve
veggies, not to disappoint you
the important one
the celeries, the lettuce
apples and peaches
pineapples and papayas
spinach and cabbages
your taste of the leaves
and the pulp
and some fresh juices
your body has become
frail less the bulk
of the muscle and the
meat
somehow, you glitter
and glow like a
traffic light when

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The New Cemetery Land

That is the Wide New Cemetery Land
The people still to make smooth on the land
Extracted from cassava trees
Cleaned from grassland
To stick out, protrude over the borders
Barbed wire fence

I stand and saw spread around
Wide spread eyes could a glance
Along to the south
On the brown land and sand
Fenced marsh
Wild large frog, spinach
Mangrove
To appear from low tide
Mixed with the ocean water

I went out
Through the gate
Till I catch the pure consciousness

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poem by Prasetya Utama
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The car of Johnny staying at home

The car of Johnny staying at home
takes the garden route
and the old green wheelbarrow creaks
while I fill it up
with weeds.

I pull a lever
and like magic sprinklers appear
in the garden
and the two cats
run moaning out of the water,
before the dogs
rollick barking in it.

I am angry with the Indian Miners, rats,
insects and snails
that eats holes out of my ripe tomatoes
and even wreck the spinach
before they are even ripe

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poem by Gert Strydom
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An Epicure

Should you preserve white mice in honey
Don't use imported ones from China,
For though they cost you less in money
You'll find the Japanese ones finer.
But if Chinese, stuff them with spice,
Which certainly improves their savour,
And though the Canton mice are nice,
The Pekinese have finer flavour.

If you should pickle bracken shoots
The way the wily Japanese do,
Be sure to pluck then young - what suits
Our Eastern taste may fail to please you.
And as for nettles, cook them well;
To eat them raw may give you skin-itch;
But if you boil them for a spell
They taste almost as good as spinach.

So Reader, if you chance to be
Of Oriental food a lover,

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poem by Robert William Service
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