Quotes about cabbage, page 6
War And Feathers
Between eyes and tears
you swim back to me on flames.
The little candles are going to take revenge.
Do not mean any insult to moon.
My stars were trembling
to reach the vanishing whole.
The cabbage blooms with
violets. Do you mind if I pick
up the pomegranates?
There was a curse against
the temple. The god was thrown
in the lake when tornado came.
Take out the thorn from
your foot. You have reached
the graveyard of unknowns.
poem by Satish Verma
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Cabbages And Beans
Like the dunny door it
simply bangs incessantly
until your patience thins
You can refuse to hear
it if you fry your brains
in oil with vapid apathy
A fear is that it might be
right and sadly true but
then again it might be wind
You’ve clearly had enough
if you accede too meekly
to its patent bullying
This cringing metaphor is
brazenness acclaimed
as an incipient authority
[...] Read more
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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A Cabbage Patch
Folk ask if I'm alive,
Most think I'm not;
Yet gaily I contrive
To till my plot.
The world its way can go,
I little heed,
So long as I can grow
The grub I need.
For though long overdue,
The years to me,
Have taught a lesson true,
--Humility.
Such better men than I
I've seen pass on;
Their pay-off when they die;
--Oblivion.
And so I mock at fame,
With books unread;
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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Winter Has Turned In Japan
Closet/beginning to feel winter clothes heavy
Train/went out to find out spring
Lake/some boats floating empty
Jizo Statue/covered with moss in vividly deep green
Roofs/in the morning light
Benches/people lunching
Cafe/sunset seen between the blinds
Stationary/my niece starting elementary
Frog/as green as cabbage
Station/an elder lady in a baby pink dress
Sofa/kitty yawning on my chest with me
Boyfriend/here to amend over the fight last night
The day light has begun to give off something new.
poem by Wabi Sabi
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Happy the Lab'rer
Happy the lab'rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn'd hose,
Andhat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws
A glance upon the ample cabbage rose
That, stuck in button-hole, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest London beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows,
Pays to the place the reverence he owes,
Likes best the prayers whose meaning least he knows,
Lists to the sermon in a softening doze,
And rouses joyous at the welcome close.
poem by Jane Austen
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I Don't Recommend Sardines
I use to love my cabbage with potatos,
Buttered and baked.
And with fired pork chops!
Crispy too!
And that's what I ate.
Until I rediscovered,
A fresh salad with tomatos.
And...
With a slice of pound cake.
To me this was great.
But I don't recommend sardines,
For certain people.
Or acquiring a taste for rare steak...
Served to drip,
With a bleeding done on paper plates.
No...
I don't recommend sardines,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mother and Marbles
Mum coming back from the market
Loading the little rickety trishaw
Well known in our little town
A shaky ride for fifty cents
My sweet childhood memories..
Lettuce, cabbage and straw
Bound paper-wrapped pork
Each bundle I helped
Carry to the kitchen table
The bond of mum and child
Sealed from mum's reward
Of an apple or a pear
From the market or a ten-cent
Coin for me to purchase
My next bundle of marbles
Which all still stand quietly
In a milo can in the storeroom
Each a different hue to
Colour the thoughts of
Those love-coated days
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Strange Restaurant
I said, 'I'll take the T-bone steak.'
A soft voice mooed, 'Oh wow.'
And I looked up and realized
The waitress was a cow.
I cried, 'Mistake--forget the the steak.
I'll take the chicken then.'
I heard a cluck--'twas just my luck
The busboy was a hen.
I said, 'Okay no, fowl today.
I'll have the seafood dish.'
Then I saw through the kitchen door
The cook--he was a fish.
I screamed, 'Is there anyone workin' here
Who's an onion or a beet?
No? Your're sure? Okay then friends,
A salad's what I'll eat.'
They looked at me. 'Oh,no,' they said,
'The owner is a cabbage head.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Childhood bee
yellow spotted black velvety bee
that came buzzing at the garden
which rages with bougainvellea
of pink, red, and vermillion red
a tree of sour sop
squirrels scoured here
up there, a lumpy dangling fruit
sported a loose crevice
that exhibited the farmer's sore
some red eyed birds
had carved for midday fare
at the mishmash of cabbage leaves
robins had hopped, looked at me
wondering i were friend or foe
neighbour, bent with her frond hat
and weather beaten clothes
worked without a sound
[...] Read more
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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You Better Spice This With Brown Sugar
Last night...
I whipped up something,
To quench my appetite.
I diced onions and green peppers.
With tomatoes,
Broccoli and carrots too!
Knowing this would be liked.
I added red cabbage, potatos...
Dashed with salt and red pepper.
And other ingredients like curry...
To stimulate the brew.
'Something' said,
'You better spice this with brown sugar.'
So this I did do.
Then I next heated a frying pan.
From slow to medium.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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