Quotes about cabbage, page 7
A Poem About Earth
I'm what's called a human being
and I've been one since my birth
I've lived here for many years
on this place that we call Earth.
Never lived anywhere else
as Earth's the place for me
other human beings live here too
and animals like Dogs and Chimpanzee.
Earth is called a Planet
but it's not like Mars
no humans live up there
so they'd be no Buses or cars.
There's lots of stuff on Earth
like Rivers, Mountains, and Trees,
and people grow stuff on Allotments
like Radish, Cabbage, and Peas.
The best things here on Earth?
has to be Football, Women, and Beer,
and because you won't find them on Mars
I say thank you Lord for putting them here!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Kail Yard Bard
A very humble pen I ply
Beneath a cottage thatch;
And in the sunny hours I try
To till my cabbage patch;
And in the gloaming glad am I
To lift the latch.
I do not plot to pile up pelf,
With jowl and belly fat;
To simple song I give myself,
And seek no gain at that:
Content if milk is on the shelf
To feed the cat.
I joy that haleness I possess,
Though fame has passed me by;
And see such gold of happiness
A-shining in the sky,
I wonder who has won success,
Proud men or I?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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River Bend
At River Bend, in New South Wales,
All alone among the whales,
Busting up some post and rails,
Sweet Belle Mahone.
In the blazing sun we stand,
Cabbage-tree hat, black velvet band,
Moleskins stiff with sweat and sand,
Sweet Belle Mahone.
In the burning sand we pine,
No one asks us to have a wine,
'Tis a jolly crooked line,
Sweet Belle Mahone.
When I am sitting on a log,
Looking like a great big frog,
Waiting for a Murray cod,
Sweet Belle Mahone.
Land of snakes and cockatoos,
Native bears and big emus,
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Colores Secundarios: Verde
cucumbers, the grinch, frogs,
leprechauns, limes, peas, the insides
of a kiwi, jade, charlize theron’s
yeux magnifiques, the almighty $,
cacti, disgusting barley-based smoothies,
pythons, trees that are forever this color,
calyptomena viridis, 'の お 茶 , green
bell peppers, the jolly green giant,
kermit, the hulk, gumbie, aliens (when
depicted as such) , essie sew psyched
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poem by Andrew Delapruch
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The Mirror
I look in the mirror, what do I see
An large, ageing woman that I don't want to be
I'm kidding myself that the mirror tells lies
But deep down I know I'm really that size
A tummy tuck's needed, also some lipo
I'm beginning to resemble a really big hippo
Could do with an uplift, my boobs went all saggy
What about my skin? that's gone all baggy!
I've noticed some creases under my eyes
I think I could do with a whole new disguise
I liken my faceskin to a Savoy cabbage leaf
All these flaws are causing me grief
The joints all need oiling, you should hear them creak
You can really tell that I'm an ageing antique
But I've decided I'm not going to stress
Because guess what? this antique is priceless
poem by Bev Haigh
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Clothing Rags
With reference to this man, who shamed a nobody
Knowing the talents of the request
And the solutions of the righteous acts,
He sews together clothing rags one after the other.
Rather than avoid the quests and ruinations
He was a man who endearingly wrote a love letter
To the effects we reach and absolve
In this heart of golden light
Baring its lead like a shaft of arrogance.
With avoidance of the spectacle
In this heart of mine, for my heart of mine,
I leapt up with joy that was a plot of land
For me to grow groups of cabbage
As the rain collected their energies
In the way of years and months.
Why does the nobody in this world tend to no
Sick people? Who manages half of the help?
In the inferred dresses, dangers creep in.
poem by Naveed Akram
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“Fredericksburg, Texas” (Summer 2006)
a warm July afternoon
a German biergarten
open café
a simple beer
Spaten
in a glass
you had water.
(beer makes you sleepy in the warm afternoon) .
there was red and white
cabbage, kraut, and kale.
the meat
bratwurst, kalburwurst, and rostbratburst.
served on a plate with cold cooked, sliced potatoes
I didn’t eat.
You had a Reuben with the same cold potatoes.
It didn’t matter.
We shared as we always do.
The music
on the stage
was one guitar
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poem by Keith Sutton
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Flightless angels shall fervently stare
A little prismatic wing of love wings its way back for us all at once to try and cocoon its meaning and discover.
O’ what cherished rose petal flower buds with their sunlight’s rubicund rays will always deliver.
Yes a little flight of fantasy, a love that; could sojourn or rest with us or none other apart from him.
When their wings walk on the water… and their swift’s tail slices the sweet air we’ll swear his with her soul goes gently there.
Through all the wonders of the heavenly world they’ll go gliding together here and there everywhere elsewhere.
As little cabbage white butterflies courting in the air in love forever. Prismatic stars shall gaze in anger and flightless angels shall fervently stare at the vacuum of their worldly unabated care.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Our Daily Bread
We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell
To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet;
There have been men who sank down into Hell
In some suburban street,
And some there are that in their daily walks
Have met archangels fresh from sight of God,
Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks
Long files of faerie trod.
Often me too the Living voices call
In many a vulgar and habitual place,
I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall,
I see a strange god’s face.
And some day this work will work upon me so
I shall arise and leave both friends and home
And over many lands a pilgrim go
Through alien woods and foam,
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poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Waiting
Oh, how I love the fine old chap
Who sits upon my left at meals,
And drops his cabbage, in my lap
From swooping fork, while he reveals
How he, at Hay, in '83,
Gave Hamlet's grand so-lil-o-quee.
He slops his supper beer o' nights,
Or fills my dexter ear with stout,
While strenuously he recites,
And hurls his lanky limbs about,
To prove that every modern cuss
Has missed the true Polonius.
His oysters down my back he'll throw,
Or freely spray me with his soup,
When suddenly inspired to show
How savage Ingomar should whoop,
Or illustrate the proper scream
With which to finish 'Denver's Dream.'
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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