Quotes about lobster, page 4
Ignored. (a Seagull Story)
Ignored. (A seagull story)
At the seaside restaurant it was busy everyone was eating lobsters,
I tried to catch the waiters’ eye. I was ignored and got the feeling
that I was Invisible, or that I was so small that my head didn’t reached
over the table. A seagull landed on my table a beautiful bird,
yellow beak and feet, plumage snowy white its wings light grey/blue
and its eyes were green; it also had the aroma of the Atlantic Ocean.
Waiter came, looked at the bird asked what it wanted, lobster, I said
when the dish came I gave it to the bird. Got up, left and no one tried
to stop me.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Enigma
The Sergeant of a Highland Reg-
-Iment was drilling of his men;
With temper notably on edge
He blest them every now and then.
A sweet old lady standing by,
Was looking on with fascination,
And then she dared this question shy,
That pertubates the Celtic nation.
"Oh gentle Sergeant do not scold;
Please tell me, though your tone so curt is:
These bare-legged boys look sadly cold -
Do they wear wool beneath their skirties?
The Sergeant's face grew lobster red,
As one who sends a bloke to blazes . . .
Then: "round about turn, squad," he said;
"Now blast you! bend and pick up daises."
poem by Robert William Service
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A Devalued Piece of Paper
There are those who view talents and gifts,
Others may be blessed with...
As a means for them to seek attachment,
To a dollar sign.
If falling leaves were declared to have monetary value,
There would be people killing themselves to rake them...
From wherever they fell in people's yards.
Or be seen chasing them as they blew in the wind.
A mindset attached to money like that,
Is as happy as a lobster caught and thrown in boiling water.
What they have or have not represents their self worth.
And it is sad for anyone to feel that enslaved,
By a devalued piece of paper.
Never to enable one to afford a peace of mind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Upon Ones Worst Fears
Despise the stench of methanal
hovering o'er this narrow space;
tinnitis, like eerie sirens
penetrate through the bones....
of ossified oracles, and -
some neurological system,
flatlined from wired Life;
call it....Time of Death?
plastics and steel support still life,
by needdles, and tubes -
or do they?
I'll sleep on it,
let you know, tomorrow,
'less the whitecoats give
orders to fill my veins -
with morphine, a la drip, drip, drip.
[And will I ever be able to breathe on my own,
[...] Read more
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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The Voice of the Lobster
''Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.'
'I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panter were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
While the Old had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
And concluded the banquet by [eating the owl.]
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Down By The Sea
Where the tumbling frothing surf,
Meets the sand dunes' spiky turf,
And daring seagulls dive and screech,
Above the sunny sandy beach,
Inventive children with bucket and spade,
Run down from the esplanade.
Lobster pots are drawn up to dry,
Beneath the blue and breezy sky,
And seaweed waiting for the tide,
Lies still, with nowhere else to hide,
And the tangy, salty languid air,
Makes one want to stand and stare.
A crab who liked the noonday heat,
Makes a speedy fast retreat,
As all his space has been invaded,
By humans looking for a shaded
Place to sit, and rest, and play,
On this hot shifting sand, today.
[...] Read more
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Rocky Raccoon-ish
Now somewhere in the black mountain hills of chicago
There lived a young boy named rocky raccoon…….(The Beatles)
Road Kill was all I wanted to have my tantalizing taste buds taste,
Raccoon, all the raccoons seemed to die waste,
Along Farm Rd.275 North or I-75 or I-94 or Highway 11,
To the gamey diner raccoon is like chicken but more it’s heaven.
Alice’s brother said to me “Didn’t you eat ‘coon before? ”
I replied “They don’t prepare the ‘coon in Hamtramck.”
But in Michigan, downriver from Detroit, they serve muskrat.
Muskrats and raccoons they’re all road kill,
I thought about and stated we eat lobster, shrimp and crab.
Which are the cockroaches and spiders of sea,
So why not, have some road kill,
you may find out that is your cup of tea.
So is the Captain and Tennille going for this delicacy?
(1-21-2008)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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A Love Story?
A love Story.
I looked down into the open grave the coffin was white until someone
threw a handful dry soil on its lid. Unreal it had nothing to with me, we
had met forty years ago and she left me saying she didn’t love me more.
I turned away, looked towards the bay, it was transparent, I could see fish
swim about, on its floor crabs, lobster that had escaped the net, and
sea plants swaying in the mild current. I poem floated up to the surface of
my consciousness I shook my head this is unseemly, threw the poem back
into a dreamy mere, like an angler who has caught very a small trout, saw
it float in the dark water of my restless mind. Her husband was crying
I embraced him “You loved her too, ” he whispered. I looked to the bay it
was blue and I couldn’t see clearly anymore, I was no longer sure whether
I had loved her as much as he had.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Garden Party
Anne looked down,
from the lofty heights
of a right royal nose,
and gave him a sneer
as she stood on his toes.
With a right foul oath
she shoved him aside,
her face was all twisted
with her smouldering eyes.
She stormed from the garden
the maid cried in alarm,
as a bowl of lobster soup
burned into her arm.
Yet Anne did not notice
Anne did not care.
Of what importance was the maid
with the raven black hair?
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fishing For Something
Fishing for something, On a lake out west,
But; the only thing biting, Mossies are a pest;
I really came to catch a dozen or so trout,
But had to stop, There's a storm come about.
Fishing for something off their pier,
Up at ballarat. On wendouree weir;
Hope to catch some trevally for tea,
But all I caught was an old shoe, silly me.
Fishing for something, I'll need a net,
Try to catch lobster, if I don't I'll be upset,
So I let out the net, and to my surprise today,
5 lobsters, and 1 cheeky dolphin trying to play.
Fishing for something, a minister will do,
As he preaches to the people, the message so true;
About. Love, and kindness, and helping each other,
And telling them too, to help witness to a brother.
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Haig
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