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A colleague is leaving and I am collecting recipes from everyone to build a recipe book. I am looking for an appropriate poem to put in the book. Shu gave me this one: THE CLEAN PLATTER Some singers sing of ladies’ eyes, And some of ladies lips, Refined ones praise their ladylike ways, And course ones hymn their hips. The Oxford Book of English Verse Is lush with lyrics tender; A poet, I guess, is more or less Preoccupied with gender. Yet I, though custom call me crude, Prefer to sing in praise of food. Food, Yes, food, Just any old kind of food. Pheasant is pleasant, of course, And terrapin, too, is tasty, Lobster I freely endorse, In pate or patty or pasty. But there’s nothing the matter with butter, And nothing the matter with jam, And the warmest greetings I utter To the ham and the yam and the clam. For they’re food, All food, And I think very fondly of food. Through I’m broody at times When bothered by rhymes, I brood On food. Some painters paint the sapphire sea, And some the gathering storm. Others portray young lambs at play, But most, the female form. “Twas trite in that primeval dawn When painting got its start, That a lady with her garments on Is Life, but is she Art? By undraped nymphs I am not wooed; I’d rather painters painted food. Food, Just food, Just any old kind of food. Go purloin a sirloin, my pet, If you’d win a devotion incredible; And asparagus tips vinaigrette, Or anything else that is edible. Bring salad or sausage or scrapple, A berry or even a beet. Bring an oyster, an egg, or an apple, As long as it’s something to eat. If it’s food, It’s food; Never mind what kind of food. When I ponder my mind I consistently find It is glued On food. Ogden Nash I of course like Ogden Nash, but it's a titch long. Thoughts? | ||
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The first thing I thought of was Food, glorious food from the musical Oliver!. It's not really a poem as it's a song, and it also is pretty long, but here it is: Is it worth the waiting for, If we live till eighty-four, All we ever get is, GRUEL, Everyday we say a prayer, Will they change the bill of fare, still we get the same old GRUEL There's not a crust, Not a crumb can we find, Can we beg can we borrow or cadge, But there's nothing to stop us from getting a thrill, when we all close our eyes and imagine. Food, glorious food, Hot sausage and mustard, While we're in the mood, Cold jelly and custard, Pease pudding and saveloys, What next? Is the question, Rich gentlemen have it, boys In dye-ges-ti-on! Food, glorious food, We're anxious to try it, Three banquets a day, Our favourite diet! Just picture a great big steak, Fried, roasted or stewed, Oh! Food, wonderful food, marvellous food, glorious food Food, glorious food, what is there more handsom gulped swallowed or chewed, still worth a king's RANDSOM, what is it we dream about, what brings on a sigh, piled peaches and cream about, six feet HIGH food, glorious food, eat right through the menu, just loosen your belt two inches and then you, work up a new appetite, in this interlude then, food, once again, food, fabulous, food, glorious food, food, glorious food, don't care what it looks like, burned underdone crude, don't care what the cook's like, just thinking of growing fat, our senses go reeling, one moment of knowing that, full up FEELING food, glorious food, what wouldn't we give for that extra bit more, that's all that we live for why should we be fated, to do nothing but brude, oh food, magical, food, wonderful, food, marvellous, food, fabulous, food, beautiful, food, glorious food! Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life. | |||
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Here's one I particularly liked as the sentiments correspond with my own feelings, although from the vocabulary used it's written by someone from outside the USA: Salad is incompatible with life. Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life. | |||
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<Proofreader> |
I'm placing the fork in 'tween my gums. Look out, stomach, for here the food comes.This message has been edited. Last edited by: <Proofreader>, | ||
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Have one of mine In Ecuador I've eaten ants straight from a log In China I was served with a fricassee of dog In Japan they give you blowfish but without the poison in But Finnish supermarkets sell Rudolph, in a tin. "No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money." Samuel Johnson. | |||
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Those are great! I think my favorite is arnie's about the salad, though. So funny! | |||
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