Food poems
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Flint and Feather
© Emily Pauline Johnson
Ojistoh1.2Of him whose name breathes bravery and life1.3And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.1.4I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he1.5Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me.
The Wood-mouse
© Howitt Mary
D' ye know the little Wood-Mouse, That pretty little thing,That sits among the forest leaves, Beside the forest spring?
When a Little Farm I Keep
© Hinkson Katharine Tynan
When a little farm I keep,I shall tend my kine and sheep,And my pretty lambs shall foldIn deep pastures starred with gold.
Mane Nobiscum Domine
© Gray John Henry
Stay with us, Lord, the day is travelled far;we meet thee at its close.Lord, at our humble table sit and share,and be, our sweet repose.
The Flying Fish
© Gray John Henry
Magnae Deus potentiaequi fertili natos aquapartim relinquis gurgitipartim levas in aera.
Thirty-Six Ways of Looking at Toronto Ontario
© Gotlieb Phyllis
##.see my house, its angled street,east, north, west, south,southeast, northwest, there areno parking placeshere
Ordinary, Moving
© Gotlieb Phyllis
is the name of the gamelaughing, talking where the ball bouncesin the forgotten schoolyardone hand, the other hand; one foot, the other footyou know the one(Saturday Afternoon Kidblackball-cracker, scotchmint-muncherhandkerchief-chewer extraordinary)clap front, clap backballthwack on the boardfencefront and back, back and frontarms of old beeches reaching over drop theirsawtooth leaves in your hair (as I was sitting beneath a tree a birdie sent his love to me and as I wiped it from my eye I thought: thank goodness cows can't fly)tweedle, twydlecurtsey, saluteand roundaboutuntil you're out
the shadows turn, the light is longand while you're out you sing this song
this year, next year, sometime, never en roule-en ma boule roule-en we'll be friends for ever and ever
Pimperroquet, le roi des papillons se faisant la barbe, il se coupa le menton une, une, c'est la lune deux, deux, c'est le jeuseven, eight trois, trois -- c'est à toi!nine, a-lauraten a-laura echod, shtaimSecord hamelech bashomayim echod, shtaim, sholosh, ar-ba
Aquarius
© Gotlieb Phyllis
The slow clock whorls of snailsmark time here; such calendarspatterned earlier dark oozeinto reluctant longitudes.
The Housewife
© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins
Here is the House to hold me -- cradle of all the race;Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear --Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place;Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here?
Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night;Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight;Duty older than Adam -- Duty that sawAcceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw
Homeward Bound
© Gibbon Perceval
It's goodbye now to Africa, but kiss your hand againTo the upland trek and the old trade road and kop and kloof and plain; There's another trek instead for us, And a long strange road ahead for us,But never the old home outspan, however the team may strain
To a Dead Crow
© Ghose Kasiprasad
Gay minstrel of the Indian clime!How oft at morning's rosy primeWhen thou didst sing in caw, caw numbers,Vexed I've awoke from my sweet slumbers,And to avoid that hateful sound,That plagues a head howe'er profound,Have walked out in my garden, whereBeside the tank, in many a square,Sweet lilies, jasmines, roses bloom,Far from those trees within whose gloomOf foliage thick, thou hadst thy nestFrom daily toil at night to rest
Love's Menu: Pommes de Terre Frites
© William Gay
Fried potatoes is a dishGood as any one could wish:Cheap it is, and appetizing;Turn a saint to gormandizing:Good and cheap and tasty too,Just the thing for Love's Menu.
To Sir Toby,
© Philip Morin Freneau
." The motions of his spirit are black as night, ." And his affections dark as Erebus.." SHAKESPEARE.
Song
© Ebenezer Elliott
Child, is thy father dead? Father is gone!Why did they tax his bread? God's will be done!Mother has sold her bed;Better to die than wed!Where shall she lay her head? Home we have none!
To my Honor'd Friend, Dr. Charleton
© John Dryden
The longest tyranny that ever sway'dWas that wherein our ancestors betray'dTheir free-born reason to the Stagirite,And made his torch their universal light
For the Baptist
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
The last and greatest herald of heaven's king,Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,Which he than man more harmless found and mild;His food was locusts and what young doth spring,With honey that from virgin hives distill'd;Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thingMade him appear, long since from earth exil'd
The Guards Came Through
© Doyle Arthur Conan
Men of the Twenty-first Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,Weak with our wounds and our thirst, Wanting our sleep and our food,After a day and a night
