Quotes about spoon, page 4
Mimics in a kitchenette
A spoon in the rack
Beside sugar and salt jars.
Spoon mutters;
'I love both of you and you're like twins
But it complicates me without tasting you
How do I jump to the old Master's
Cup of Tea?
Kettle whistles and the Master still asleep.'
Parrot in the cage whispers;
'On holidays Master won't wake up early.'
Then who poured water into the kettle? '
'Don't you know Master brought a sweet *bride last night.'
[*A job agency has supplied a house-maid from a rural village.]
It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.
-Brigitte Bardot
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Rainbow Spaghetti
One day mother said to me,
'What do you want to eat? '
I answered back to her,
'Rainbow spaghetti'
So my mother waited for the rain
And went outside with her boots
She grabbed the rainbow in a puddle
And walked back inside
She cooked some spaghetti
And told me to stir the rainbow
So I put the rainbow in a bowl
And stirred it with a spoon
Mother took the rainbow
And poured it over the spaghetti
She gave it to me to eat
With a fork and a spoon
[...] Read more
poem by Tessa Marshall
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Mabel Osborne
Your red blossoms amid green leaves
Are drooping, beautiful geranium!
But you do not ask for water.
You cannot speak! You do not need to speak --
Everyone knows that you are dying of thirst,
Yet they do not bring water!
They pass on, saying:
"The geranium wants water."
And I, who had happiness to share
And longed to share your happiness;
I who loved you, Spoon River,
And craved your love,
Withered before your eyes, Spoon River --
Thirsting, thirsting,
Voiceless from chasteness of soul to ask you for love,
You who knew and saw me perish before you,
Like this geranium which someone has planted over me,
And left to die.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Objector
In line at lunch I cross my fork and spoon
to ward off complicity--the ordered life
our leaders have offered us. Thin as a knife,
our chance to live depends on such a sign
while others talk and The Pentagon from the moon
is bouncing exact commands: "Forget your faith;
be ready for whatever it takes to win: we face
annihilation unless all citizens get in line."
I bow and cross my fork and spoon: somewhere
other citizens more fearfully bow
in a place terrorized by their kind of oppressive state.
Our signs both mean, "You hostages over there
will never be slaughtered by my act." Our vows
cross: never to kill and call it fate.
poem by William Stafford
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John Hancock Otis
As to democracy, fellow citizens,
Are you not prepared to admit
That I, who inherited riches and was to the manor born,
Was second to none in Spoon River
In my devotion to the cause of Liberty?
While my contemporary, Anthony Findlay,
Born in a shanty and beginning life
As a water carrier to the section hands,
Then becoming a section hand when he was grown,
Afterwards foreman of the gang, until he rose
To the superintendency of the railroad,
Living in Chicago,
Was a veritable slave driver,
Grinding the faces of labor,
And a bitter enemy of democracy.
And I say to you, Spoon River,
And to you, O republic,
Beware of the man who rises to power
From one suspender.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Mrs. Williams
I was the milliner
Talked about, lied about,
Mother of Dora,
Whose strange disappearance
Was charged to her rearing.
My eye quick to beauty
Saw much beside ribbons
And buckles and feathers
And leghorns and felts,
To set off sweet faces,
And dark hair and gold.
One thing I will tell you
And one I will ask:
The stealers of husbands
Wear powder and trinkets,
And fashionable hats.
Wives, wear them yourselves.
Hats may make divorces --
They also prevent them.
Well now, let me ask you:
[...] Read more
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Seth Compton
When I died, the circulating library
Which I built up for Spoon River,
And managed for the good of inquiring minds,
Was sold at auction on the public square,
As if to destroy the last vestige
Of my memory and influence.
For those of you who could not see the virtue
Of knowing Volney's "Ruins" as well as Butler's "Analogy"
And "Faust" as well as "Evangeline,"
Were really the power in the village,
And often you asked me,
"What is the use of knowing the evil in the world?"
I am out of your way now, Spoon River,
Choose your own good and call it good.
For I could never make you see
That no one knows what is good
Who knows not what is evil;
And no one knows what is true
Who knows not what is false.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Freddy Sez
Bang the pan slowly, for Freddy is dead.
Grasp the spoon firmly in hand.
Aim for the Shamrock that graces the pot
That for years Freddy used at home stands
Retire the signs so colorfully made
That he used to urge his Yankees on.
Sheppard is dead, Steinbrenner’s gone
Freddy Sez follows behind.
From the time he retired till the day that he died
He faithfully followed his team.
He outlasted the House Ruth brought in being
A twenty eighth win was his dream.
He wandered the stands from bleachers to field
With the pan and his colorful signs
Has any among us not handled the spoon?
Will anyone bid him goodbye?
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Simple Pleasure
When the dinner was ready, when I was five,
We sat on the mat in the Hall, half awake,
Varieties of food prepared, served and fed,
The daddies were at the center to watch,
We couldn't laugh and chat while eating,
We shouldn't spill the food on the ground,
We have had unwritten rules,
That has to be strictly obeyed,
Men and the children are in the first list,
Then the women of the house eat and taste,
What they cook, there is a pleasure,
In serving the food to the people we love,
Spoon after spoon, ladle after ladle,
Our love is measured many times,
Many thousand times in our dining halls,
Sometimes we feed our grown up children,
Out of the same bowl, for which,
The women of the houses are mocked,
Simple pleasures such as these,
In life make the living meaningful.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Walter Simmons
My parents thought that I would be
As great as Edison or greater:
For as a boy I made balloons
And wondrous kites and toys with clocks
And little engines with tracks to run on
And telephones of cans and thread.
I played the cornet and painted pictures,
Modeled in clay and took the part
Of the villain in the "Octoroon."
But then at twenty-one I married
And had to live, and so, to live
I learned the trade of making watches
And kept the jewelry store on the square,
Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking,—
Not of business, but of the engine
I studied the calculus to build.
And all Spoon River watched and waited
To see it work, but it never worked.
And a few kind souls believed my genius
Was somehow hampered by the store.
[...] Read more
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology (1916)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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