"waldorf" poems
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed gar-
ments, poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bit-
ter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
5.7k
Love is a Waldorf.
A Graham or an Ackermann? Nope,
won’t suffice.
Fortuitous interactions led me here.
The crest of Eebs, the sphere.
A polynomial function is infinitely
differentiable.
It carries many names, and many tools.
analyze it and again and again
Each derivative kills information.
Eventually we all go to zero.
Enjoy it while you can,
speaks the radio man man man STOP RHYMING
The rhyme scheme will further
our demise
destruction
is
imminent
at least I had waldorf
reduction
to
nothing.
at least I got chicken.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
How brave are our fire brigades?
As they battle bushfires each day,
Yes, it's summer in Victoria,
Not exactly the Waldorf Astoria,
For all the fire brigades,
Our respect they've totally gained,
Laying their lives on the line,
When the weather's too hot and fine,
Burn, Victoria, burn,
El Nino's torrid urn,
Our noble defenders each day,
Real heroes in the news, I say,
As they battle bushfires today,
How brave are the fire brigades?
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Here I write some recipes,
From our anti--football league,
How to cook a football totally,
Must boil it for twelve hours, ritually,
Then you can dice it and fricassee,
Or maybe bake, broil, and grill,
What won't fatten, shall fill,
Or you can make mini-football custard, eh,
Chocolate footballs in a bowl, let's say,
We call it Footy Iles Flotante,
Star sweet in the anti-football restaurant!
Then a recipe for Grand Final Day, swell,
It's called footy Croquembouche Noel!
Hear the anti-footballers yell!
You, too, can write recipes,
For the Anti-football Society,
It's like dining at the Waldorf Astoria,
Anti-football recipes from Melbourne, Victoria!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
Through my eyes everything seemed perfect
everything is luxurious
through my eyes i saw
the Waldorf Astoria
continental breakfasts,cruises,jets,limos
All i saw are expensive watches,sun glasses
the best of everything
but what i couldn't see was
the famines in Africa
the wars in Syria and Afghanistan
the everyday killings,kidnappings,heists
I was surrounded by luxuries
blocking out all the evil
I was surrounded by an army of guards
I never realized
that they weren't paid to follow me,
they were there to protect me
but i never appreciated them
their bravery
and in a blink of an eye
I HAD LOST EVERYTHING
and suddenly
the people in Africa were eating
the wars ended
the killings,murders,heists were being controlled
and everything through my eyes were
mud houses,donkey carts,torn clothes
boiled potatoes and peas
and the rich people who enjoyed all the things i once had
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Dancing with the colors
Each year vibrant with growth
Oranges
Reds
Yellows
Blues
A memory of a beautiful place.
Nature walks and lantern creations
Pumpkin carved candles light up the hall.
Magic capes and fairy tales
Enchanted castles and cardboard houses.
Tea and story time, handwork, circus practice, and theater.
Music, main lesson, mathematics, english, history, all the academics.
Imagination, free play, and singing songs
Advent Candles and the Rose Ceremony,
Magnificent festivals and feeling free.
So much to give and so much to take.
Full with laughter
Full with wonder
Faces curious and willing to gain knowledge
Inside this whimsical colorful place.
Curtain draped windowpanes, comforting space.
A magical kingdom, a magical school.
Where children are allowed to be themselves: body, mind, spirit, and soul.
Welcome home.
© Jo Tomso
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Miss Percival's famous jell-o molds were
the talk of every summer block party.
No one was sure where she had come up with
exotic shapes that adorned red benches
robins, and faces of famous people
they really were a thing to be envied.
One Memorial Day, though, there came a shriek from Miss Percival's kitchen
and the flowery curtains shuffled as they did so
The first ones in (the couple that brought the waldorf salad every year. It was good, but it was nothing next to Miss P's jell-o molds)
were Mr. and Mrs. Carroway
Mrs. Carroway almost fainted when she saw what was on the counter
You see, Miss Percival was fond of one site for her molds
and they shipped them in every month in big brown crates
there was a big brown crate, to be sure
but no mold inside
It isn't proper to gossip, but I heard that it was a bowl full of eyeballs;
A medical school had put the wrong address on their order.
I bet that there was a confused batch of medical students
being stared at by a jell-o model of Walter Cronkite.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
i imagine your color to be a crystalline blue
clear and sharp, like truth
and beautifully complex, like the sea.
like the sea your brain waves flow in
intricate patterns and the tide
brings serenity to the shore
and out again
in
and out again
every now and then
i think about the way we'll look at each other
when we're twenty-three and living off of
not enough money, a few cups of coffee,
and maybe five hours of sleep
i think we'll be glowing
with flushed cheeks that come from the energy
of being the world
with bright eyes that come from
starting our lives
we might be broke
but not quite so broken
anymore.
see i've decided we can flip off the **** that happens to us
because hell even blair waldorf
stuck her fingers down her throat
in high school
and then made herself into a most exceptional
queen bee
so the tide comes in.
the beat goes on.
we breathe.
hear the air molecules rushing through your body
it's a race as they chase the carbon dioxide
the tide
comes in
it must have been the boat of good ideas
that brought us together and togibs
so i don't doubt that life is worth living,
at the end of the day.
i have you,
our souls
connected by this crystalline blue
i wrote a poem for you once
about it
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC