Best Cutlery Poems
i sit lonely.
the crowded restaurant is thick with sound
i pick away at it
moving back into the stagnant silence
of my own comfort
the air is nasty here
it telepathically abuses my thought patterns
still
a far cry better
the loud hum of food
marching to the vacant crowd
suffocates me
a decorated plate joins my table
strikes a conversation with the cutlery
there is no call from the governor
as i attack my food
fork knife teeth
bites later
a paper plane flies in
a swipe of my plastic
makes quick work of the bill
i exit
seemingly quicker
than human eyes can catch
i hate this part
i parley my way through
too many bodies
all the while staring
at a concrete maze
never making eye contact
with a single soul
i do that
i always do that
keep the entrances of my being
away from those who would stare me down
attempt to engage me in conversation
with a desire to lock eyes
if they looked in they would burn
i’d be held responsible
FINALLY
home
the only environment i feel safe in
my therapist will be proud
almost an hour today
assuming i see her again
i am covered in my own dew
my breathing sporadic
i line up an array of pills like good soldiers
as i continue my attempt
survive another day
it will take hours to regain my sanity
all the while questioning the purpose
why must i assimilate
back into the dungeons
they call society
it behooves me
find one reason
join the rank and file
plug back into a horrendous grid
i had escaped
i
grow
weary
of
my
own
thoughts
ignore my voice
slowly regain my footing
plant roots
hope they’ll take hold
attempt to return
into the vacuum of my existence
i sit lonely.
We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.
Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small bottles of vin de table,
butter buns.
As the aircraft plummets
and drops like a stone to certain death
we’ll still be struggling with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers, with small, molded cruets
oblivious now to anything less important.
Written: February: 06, 2024
___________________________________________
Peaceful solitude,
letting exit of daily routine,
surrender to peace,
deep breathing calms the spirit,
relax tight muscles,
exhaling painlessly,
away from extraneous impacts,
falling into happiness.
Our palms are extended,
only a few inches away,
approach the
shrouded sanctum,
excitedly expecting,
the lavish outpour,
with the cherubs,
leap forward,
our contaminated chalice,
we shed transgressions,
slithering veneer,
digging for who we are,
out of the covetous quagmire.
Gradually into an ecstatic reverie,
where time and space are muffled,
mental symphony, being level and quiet,
quietness says volumes,
rich and calming,
controlling all noises,
who enters my head?
stillness grows inside,
permeating every bodily fiber,
magically interacting within,
so aged things may be rejuvenated,
a baffling land that hides delight,
swaying daisy petals and soft skin,
circles of cutlery.
Colorful smells scent them
pasted text paralysis,
capture lovely theaters,
subtle care cracks,
juxtaposed with colors and rich smells,
falling and reveling.
The sun is setting
As she prepares her for evening
After dusk dinner with her lover in gardens over there
Basket of love all wrapped with love and flair
She sets down the cutlery
Pours two glasses of red wine
A dozen roses she places on the tombstone
Candles flicker surrounding the grave
She clinks glasses, too you my love
I smile meekly, taking a sip
She whispers how she misses me so
She gently caresses me and sings our song
The moon is out, so full and bright
We dance entwined, both past and present held tight
She seductively sways, in the candle lit night
A lone tears appears upon her cheek
I am silent, intimately studying her face of sadness
She knows I love her, even from below
The wind and the sky both tell her so
Her tear stained scarf falls right where I lie
I smell her perfume, her passions my soul keeps
The night becomes chilly, for our tears so weep
She lays down beside me, holding me in stone
She whispers you shall never be alone
Before sunrise, up she is her basket packed to go
She places one black rose upon me as the clouds part way
She returns to her reality and me to my grave
Turning round she speaks these words
You can never leave me
You can never go
You are always beside my heart
For I love you so
In the morning sun
The grave keeper is mending and pruning things just right
As he walks over me, I am startled a wee bit with fright
You see I had a dream just this last of nights
That a lover came to whisper devotions and hold me tight
There was no woman, no lover, no visitor to my enclave
For even the dead and soulless, have dreams from underneath
My hell on earth is to be buried right here in earthy toils
Knowing no lover will place a flower at the foot of my grave
The wind blows
Leaves twirling up in the sky
The wind blows
A black rose falls upon my grave
On the eve of that somber, stormy night,
I began to see strings of spring swirling soundlessly
along the thread-thin blade of this culinary cutlery.
Why does gravity lay on thick in this silver steel accessory?
If only you knew, where there is a subtle screech of harmony,
there is a violent war viciously humming melancholy.
As the dust of what was once obscure drops from the passing clouds,
it sets in an assembly of soft, dull vowels,
waiting for the rug of grass to spread a path to the furthest mountain.
Why do I feel no raging colors from the twilight
yet see them so vibrantly?
How do I know nothing of summoning my movements,
when this adrenaline speaks distantly?
Alone, a rush of flame once formed, now shows the demons in the storm.
When this flesh and bones become one with the unpredictable elements,
I hope what prevails is the lore of my regiments,
where I bled into the disasters of my own shortcomings,
learning to rest without a bruise as I drown.
She was a super-healthy woman until she
adopted the green diet ... all green: dishes, cutlery,
glasses, table, sheets, breads, yogurt ... everything, everything.
Green salads were a must. At first as all
the results were superb ... she soon acquired
a wonderful "HULK" green color when
passed on the street they said:
- Look, it's Hulk cousin ... - No, it's the Hulk ..!
Spending time, she could not walk anymore
being so weak green ... when she walked she listened :
- Look, here comes the lettuce foot ...
and they threw water at her ... poor woman's turned plant, but
myrtle, green, dry ... so one day died ...
It was not buried normally, because what was human
There was nothing left anymore. She was thrown in the trash can.
I'm going to keep writing regardless of the outcome
I'm going to keep clicking my keys and my mind
I'm going to create from nothing what I need
I'm going to give it all I got, cuz its what I do !
I will share my thoughts whether you like it or not
I will give you the best of me, and you decide
I will not be a cower in face of gossip and quarrel
I will not fold just because you think I'm too much
I'm going to write like a true writer until it gets dark
I'm going to write in the sun like a bard of old and win
I'm going to share my light with others using only words
I'm going to be the girl I was born to be, tall tales are free
I'm going to entertain you with words and phrases from ?
I'm going to sparkle like bran new cutlery, be it fork or spoon
I'm going to serve it to you every day with a smile
I'm going to be a poet whether you like it or not
I'm going to keep writing regardless of the outcome
I'm going to brave it and write until the day is done.
Winter is gone. Warm weather is here, and what better way to enjoy it than with a
picnic?
Shade
Ants
Watermelon
Potato Salad
Checkered Cloth
Lemonade
Wicker Basket
Fried Chicken
Meadow
Wildflowers
Snooze
Al Fresco
Iced Tea
Paper Plates
Cutlery
Kite
Salt and Pepper
Cups
Cheese
Chips
Thermos
Crackers
Frisbee
Napkins
Cookies
Bonus activity: Have children draw a picnic scene, incorporating at least 10 of these
words into the scene.
There once was a young filly named Mabel
Who enjoyed having sex on a table
Got gravy on her parts
Her fame was off the charts!!!
For dessert she put a jelly bean in her navel
A LESS BAWDY VERSION
There once was a filly named Mabel
Who enjoyed having sex on a table
Had to watch for the cutlery
Could cause pain quite utterly
Bet you haven't heard this well known fable
© Jack Ellison 2015
Bring out the red balloons
and the dancing baboons
get that water slide ready
‘n’ where’s Tim’s old teddy
someone turn the music up
who pissed in my tea cup!
put those gifts right here
thank you Mary, my dear
****!, look at the spaghetti
it’s all covered in confetti
it’s ok we have plenty more
Billy get of the dirty floor
um, have you got the lollies
‘n’ the cars and the dollies
someone change her nappy
think it’s getting a bit crappy
Jimmy don’t pull her hair
now go and sit over there!
time to get out the bar-b-que
go ‘n’ get the meat will you?
Maureen please don’t cry
you just got to give it a try
hooray! here comes grandpa
in his brand new motorcar
blow your nose please Joey
go and play with little Zoe
ah! here is the pack of steak
did Aunty Jean bring the cake?
wow! many have come today
lots of happy little faces, i say
where’s all the plastic cutlery
oh yes, over there i can see
arrrgh! a mean rubber snake!
you’d scared me master Jake
better go and turn of that tap
whew! already wanting a nap
get me a orange soft drink
there’s Betty, pretty in pink
oh dear, got a bit of a mess
upon my brand new dress
did Larry chain up the dog
hey kid, get of that dirty log!
who’s lost their purple shoe
and who left out this glue?
He’s not deaf, Jenny Peal
he’s a gnome, he’s not real
got to have eyes everywhere
over here, here and over there
now that was not very nice
you say sorry to Sally, Bryce
let all those streamers down
mm, where’s that Bozo clown?
i see arriving now some others
Wendy and her three brothers
time to get on with excitement
all the kids are full of enjoyment
c’mon let’s get on with the fun
being happy under the warm sun
YAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!!
Our table is set – it looks divine
Crystal glasses for our red wine
Silver cutlery with which to eat
Our favourite meal – oh what a treat
The table is set on our patio
With romantic music and the lights down low
A candle burns to give us light
I hope you enjoy this culinary delight
Starter
Scottish smoked salmon with a lemon wedge
Served on a bed of crisp iceberg lettuce
With homemade dill mayonnaise
Main course
Chateaubriand steak cooked medium - there's plenty for two
(I ate it on my first date with you!!)
Served with
Crispy onion rings
Sautéed mushrooms
French beans, broccoli florets and carrot batons
Chunky fries
French Mustard
Dessert
Homemade chocolate almond brownie
Served with rich chocolate sauce and double cream
Tea or freshly brewed coffee
Bon Appetit!
Footnote…
Writing this menu brings back many memories of a meal we had …
on our first date we ate at a lovely restaurant called ‘Celebrity’ it was the first time I had ever been taken to somewhere so posh where the lady gets the menu without the prices on.
After the starter the waiter brought over apricot sorbet – in my innocence I said … but I’ve not had my main course yet and I’ve not even chosen the dessert ... ‘madam’ he said it is to cleanse your palate – oh the innocence of youth !
10~25~15
Contest: For all ladies and brave men
Sponsor: Judy Konos
The elephants were feeling down
As pachyderms oft do.
The cockatiels were quite depressed
The chimpanzees were too.
The mood among the jungle crowd
Was in short quite low,
When a young Hyena yelled,
“I’ve got guys, I know!”
We should throw a dinner Party
To stop us feeling dismal,
But please don’t ask the vultures round
Their manners are abysmal.
“Splendid!” called the warthog,
Very much excited,
“How will we let the others know
That they’ve been invited?”
“Easy!” cried a young gazelle,
Getting rather heated.
“Tell the parrot who should come,
He’ll find them and repeat it.”
“What shall we eat?” exclaimed giraffe,
“I tell you, that’s the question.
‘Cos if I have the tigers grub
Then I’ll get indigestion!”
“Who’s invited needs more thought.”
The wildebeest all said.
If we ask the lions round
They’ll eat us up instead.”
“What ssshall I wear I asssk you all?”
They heard a grass snake cry.
“The monkeysss might all fit in ssssuits,
But how on earth will I?”
“We’ll never find the table cloth.”
“And who will do the dishes?”
“We’re running short of cutlery.”
“Where will we sit the fishes?”
They argued on all through the night,
But came to no conclusion,
And in the end forgot their plans
Amidst all their confusion.
The cars pull up, the doorbell’s rung.
To a hugging welcome, in they come.
With gifts wrapped up and tied with bows
There is warm handshaking, more hello’s.
The men bring in some good red wine
That will go down nicely, when we dine.
We stand, at first, renewing friendship links
While the host is scurrying, pouring drinks.
Then into chairs, we sink to chat
About trips, and kids, and this and that.
Slowly, surely, we all get louder
Telling stories that make us prouder.
The hostess dashes, with some concern,
The oven’s smoking, the food might burn.
Then from the kitchen wafts a gorgeous smell
“The food is ready”, comes a welcome yell
To the table we slowly go.
Each place is marked; a name will show
Each guest where he should sit.
It’s carefully planned for a gourmet hit.
The meal that’s served is fit for a king.
Praise the cook we loudly sing.
The company’s good, with laughter more
Another highlight in memory’s store.
Coffee’s drunk, but they stay awhile.
The friendships great, with plenty a smile..
Time takes its toll, and they start to leave
But when they’re gone, it’s time to grieve.
There’s dirty cutlery, and plates to wash
If I were a Greek, I’d give them a bash.
Next day, of course, the phone line hums
Scores are settled, invites come.
It’s my turn now to enjoy a feast.
If the truth be known.
I’m a Party Beast.
I
Wait
Hoping
To hear news
That wisdom will come
I have prepared for her a room
The table has been set with the finest cutlery
The plates have been set for the politicians, sadly not a single one has arrived!
She
Comes
Holding
Out her hand
Within it a gift
A pearl of tremendous worth
She says "If this gift is cherished it will multiply!"
First time trying this form.
Tossing and turning after a heavy economic loss
The shock shattered my peace of nights
Hugging my pillow tight with unshed tears
The sorrowful thoughts trudged haltingly
To my grandma's antique sewing machine
Lying impassively in the cluttered store
Guilt shook me out of my sluggish memories
Over the dormant treasure dearly ignore
Up and about I barged into the basement
I carried it upstairs carefully with loaded adulation
Dusted and oiled my reborn ardency
Connoisseured my eyes with twinkling love
The art of neatly stitching hearts was taught
By granny silently as she held onto its handle
While the machine's needle and shuttle
Would treadle my ripped and torn today
Retrospecting over the many inheritances
Of love she left her favoured grandchild
A few stressed lines ironed out my brow
The silver forks to hold on to love
And the knives to cut out the wasted crusts
Her crocheted scarf for my winter warmth
When she saw her child had no such style
Amongst her voguish teenaged peers
A gold viking insignia with my initials embossed
Was loosely chained around my neck emblematising
Her overwhelming love must have oozed profusely
When she rocked me in her tender arms
Gazing fondly at the next in line to her posterity
Her marriage ring she gave on my wedding
Which the thieves much mistook for their right
Emptying stores of my sentimental potpourri
The wealth was stolen with rancour
But not my granny's fondness that was
Reigning still in the depth of my heart
I continue living with my antiques of love
The gold viking pendent had inadvertently
Slipped from the chain to a safer corner
The silvern cutlery smiles at the table
Smirking at the ignorant fools
For undervaluing their worth
The handle of the sewing machine
Moves at my command silently stitching
Nostalgic memories with empyreal pride
October 26, 2016
For Broken Wings
Old Jewellery or Just Old Things