Best Dinner Plate Poems
White Devil
Call it what you want!
I call it, his favorite season hunt...
Two hoofs imprinted near the riverfront.
Echoes calling my soul with a loud, ferocious grunt.
I smell it in the air, lost upon the white golden stair.
A deep frost dwelling all over his lair.
Tangled by the frozen grip of my hair.
A decision, I declare to give what he won't spare.
This man has no red suit..
Lurking in the white to recruit.
A midnight suicide clouding me with pollute.
I pause my tongue on mute, lost in a white castle chute.
Headed straight into a shivering blazing star path.
The land of snow covered like a bubble bath.
Breaking icicles like crystal glass, suck3d by the milky-way mass.
Multiplying bruises like a cascade, enjoying the aftermath.
Finding a way to slit the pain in my domain.
I grab a coat and lace my name to Mary-Jane.
Inserting the finest line to ease the drain in my brain.
I drink the icy scotch, and drop a silver nickel into the devils cocaine.
Fallen in to his bait, its too late, I got 7 lines on my dinner plate.
I'm covered up in snow, enjoying the amazing way to suffocate.
Eight beats to every minute is my new heart rate.
I'm reaching for the white golden gate, where the white devil waits.
Drowning like liquor in a frappe mixing the winter's high tide.
Death to my soul is where I hide under this white blanket neutral side.
Too heavy to uplift this storm lost in the devil's cold custard suicide guide.
Waking up in a coma, in a world where white collides with the rage of suicide.
by;p.d.
(( Trapped in a snowy blizzard))
"When returning love, becomes to Late"
Fantastic,
From her eyes
His name the name
She mumbles silently
3 rivers, 3 years, 2 many tears
She loves him endlessly
Sending her soul
A free feeling,
Finally, he fell
Engaging, equal to the spell
Morning, mountains and more
Move across a new age moon
His heart happily
Traveling towards hers
Dashing dandy, onto her dinner plate
Too long she waited,
She's not hungry, her heart self healed
3 rivers 3 years 2 late
Her tears faded his rusty name
SKAT
A cat jumped in the river
to meet a fellow fish,
he wanted to be like them
it was his only wish.
He figured he could do it
he had everything it takes,
with whiskers on his front parts
and a tail a catfish makes.
He swam down to the bottom
while holding in his breath,
but soon began to worry
that this might end in his death.
His little heart was pounding
as he raced back to the top,
he determined if he made it
that he wasn't going to stop.
He broke the surface with a splash
and gulped in lots of air,
He climbed up the embankment
and ran like he didn't care.
He ran through empty fields
and to home ran all the way,
and when he got their safely
stopped to think about the day...
"I love to watch the catfish
as they circle down below,
they move around so effortless
and offer quite a show."
He wanted to be like them
so he thought, in blissful glee,
but then he came to realize
...'twas curiosity.
Their mesmerizing silky glide
and tantalizing tryst,
offered a temptation
that brings us to this twist:
The cat by then concluded
that it was to be his fate,
that he should rather have the catfish
on his dinner plate.
AGE OF TEN
Way back then when I was ten
Things were so very different then
I wrote with ink in a fountain pen
Whenever we could we would build a den
And I loved to help my dad in the garden
Way back then when I was ten
I walked to school and was never late
Always ate everything on my dinner plate
Played hop scotch by the garden gate
And was not allowed to go to bed late
Way back then when I was ten
No television colours only black and white
Real Christmas trees and a glass fairy light
We all had a different size of trike
Then I got my first two wheeled bike
Way back then when I was ten
We had so much freedom to roam
But must be in for meals at home
Only a phone boxes with a dial phone
And no phone in many a home
Way back then when I was ten
Latest craze was roller skates
And hula hoop with your mates
Skipping ropes and Meccano gates
But lots of fun with wooden crates
Way back then when I was ten
Coins were in pounds shillings and pence
Mothers talked over the garden fence
Scooters that you could make go at such a pace
Noisy steam trains that always seem to race
Way back then when I was ten
With friends you played out doors
Toys for your imagination scatted on the floor
Skipping ropes, skates and many things more
Sledges of wood, a dolls house with opening doors
Way back then when I was ten
Fun was had with blackboard and chalk
Clay dolls that you could walk
And new plastic ones that wouldn’t talk
Then babies came by way of the Stork UNSUPPORTED CODE
She was great with sheep or cattle, and would bound beside the horse,
always full of energy… a border collies best of course.
We’ve never owned another breed, but these collies we address,
we’ve had a few upon the farm… but none as good as Jess.
Two of her pups still work for us, and both bear her working trait,
Jess always kept them both in line, and ruled the dinner plate.
When de-horning, crutching, shearing, or the time of need to press,
one whistle from our Father… and first on the job was Jess.
And when her time came for motherhood, Dad never feared the worst,
because he knew that top security, for her pups came first.
If us kids were out of order, one growl would have us guess,
pat her pups then move away… leave the mothering to Jess.
Jess never was the playful type; she preferred her working life,
a stranger walking to the door would often feel the strife.
Not that she bit to leave a scar she just needed to assess
the territory that they stood on… did all belong to Jess.
Oh yes she would protect us, and front position she would take.
Once stood between both Ron and I, and a big red-bellied snake.
But that’s just one of many times, for our Mum to say, “God bless,
we could have lost one of you boys… if it hadn’t been for Jess.”
But time became her master, her sight got dim her legs wore out.
Instinct made her struggle, in the only life she knew about.
The pups were leaving her behind; she was coping less and less.
Many evenings Dad sat on the porch… looking down at Jess.
Dad took the gun and slowly walked. Jess followed down the track.
Mum, Ron and I cried at the table, when only Dad came back.
What broke our hearts most of all, and left an anguish inside me,
was little Brucey asking, “Why won’t Jess come and eat her tea?”
~I don't need, In case you haven't heard~
I don't need to strip for no crown, unless you desire large breast
Casarah, there's no need to be deluded by money hungry psychics,
Reading leaves from a tea cup, a misguided fortune of bribes
Can't you see satin gold already streams through my veins
It's not about wanting it bad or how low I would go
I don't need to threaten you or order dominoes
Never would I clean or do your chores,
Rather, I bet you look good dressed as a French Maid
Cleaning and writing around the beauty of everything
Forget the honorable mention, I want first place
This is your week, blank out the pretenders, fakers and haters
They will never have your back once the contest close
As for me, you've been on my dinner plate, since day one
I don't need a grammar base pen, rhyme pattern to win
What I got is hotter, by far the best rates on everything
I don't need Jan to be my friend, Andrea, to address me with a hello
What I have is satisfaction and loyalty everywhere I go.
I got flaws hotter than the sun, strutting my stuff just for you
No need to scratch my back, what we need is a back massage for two
Calgon will give us the youth Greek Gods can't top in 60 seconds
Unwrap yourself from Broken vines, it's time you deal with--
a moon as gold as every word you ever poured from your pen
Let's enjoy the Groveling moon, together we can enslave and take control
You don't need a genie lamp, you are worth more than diamonds and pearls
Together we can toss that lamp back into the Silent of the shadows
Before, greed becomes a misery --- Casarah darling
I got to admit 1,000.000.000 dollars sounds decent
Too bad, Michael's check bounced before it had a chance
Together let's take these sweet little bribes and make the world of it
Flip the bird, burn down all abandon houses
Built another strong community, wait, something is amiss!
Someone owes a gambling debt, coming to you with casino chips
Casarah, I'm not trying to please your mind, or give voice to my bride
I don't NEED to give what you already earn in your honest way
What I want is to win, no attorney needed - I rest my case
Love the Poet Destroyer
No one knows the joy you bring
They wish you weren’t around
The neighbor’s cat was just a “thing”
That moved and made a sound
It’s clear to see, you meant no harm
You thought it liked to play
To suggest, your transfer, to a farm
Well that was harsh to say
And, sure, you like to ride along
No matter where I go
Others seem to think I’m wrong
But, what do others know
I always say, “Haters, hate”
And you should just do you
It clearly was that bunny’s fate
To be your rabbit stew
As for daddy’s dinner plate
He left it unattended
You left the peas, but ate the steak
He ought not be offended
Now, had you ate, the peas instead
He’d have a valid fight
But you helped inflate his manly head
You felt, he grilled, just right
I feel that some just won’t agree
No matter, your perfection
Crying blind, but surly see
Yours and my affection
Jealousy’s a deadly sin
But seems to be the cause
For the ruckus over man’s best friend
Who’s known round town, as “Jaws”.
Rhyme about your favorite pet contest
About my dog, River
10/4/19
Silence As Paper Absorbs Ink To Battle Rage
The clink, clink of hammer and anvil kissing hard
hot flames from fiery furnace belching molten steel
famous blades born from a fallen meteorite shard
gifts bloody deep cuts a fallen warrior feels.
Deadly romance of man, fire and metal forged true
tiresome toil that births deadly weapon made to kill
can opposition, pen and ink give such foe its due
when world spins faster to create deadlier thrills.
The clink, clink of hammer and anvil kissing hard
hot flames from fiery furnace belching molten steel
famous blades born from a fallen meteorite shard
gifts bloody deep cuts a fallen warrior feels.
Silence as paper absorbs ink to battle rage
long past late midnight hours, and quivering of hand
as poet consults epitaph of an ancient sage
to venture deeper into mists in darker lands.
The clink, clink of hammer and anvil kissing hard
hot flames from fiery furnace belching molten steel
famous blades born from a fallen meteorite shard
gifts bloody deep cuts a fallen warrior feels.
War from Man, can opposing factions separate
BLOODY PAWS FROM GOLD, ON A BROKEN DINNER PLATE
War from Man, can opposing factions separate
BLOODY PAWS FROM GOLD, ON A BROKEN DINNER PLATE.
R.J. Lindley
Nov. 12th 1984
Rhyme, ( War, Man, This World, As Opposed By Poetic Pen )
I looked forward to my school dinner
While I was at school
The teachers made us stand in a line
You see that was the school rule.
As I took my dinner plate
And walked down the line
The sight of all the lovely food
I wished it was all mine.
There was steak pie and carrots
Mashed potatoes too
The dinner lady looked at me
And said this one is for you.
I walked back to the table
With a big grin on my face
I would eat every little bit
I didn't leave no waste.
Then there was puddings
wow, wasn't that a treat
There was spotted dick and treacle tart
As much as I could eat.
The meals were free we had at school
Because Mum and Dad was poor
And if we put our hands up
We could ask for more.
Yes, all those school dinners
I remember very well
Especially those gorgeous puddings
They made my belly swell.
Autumn brings leaves in multifarious hues,
Time's flow quickly readies us for winter's blow.
Fun days on our patios will soon turn to blues,
As it takes its leisure neath a blanket of snow.
The Sycamores have shed like some molting dog,
And each Crape Myrtle is dressed a yellowish red.
The huge Hackberry resembles an old upright log,
Now, too soon our days may be filled with dread.
The Hibiscuses are a gathering of pithy stalks,
Where once dinner plate size red flowers hung.
Now no cars come, stop and give strange gawks,
But things will be normal once spring has sprung.
Fallen leaves unmistakably are whispering to me,
Dancing at my feet they swirl along the ground.
As if they can't decide where they're supposed to be,
Each movement choreographed to whispering sound.
Do you know you have a brain?
Do you know the worlds insane?
Fluff your feathers, peck the ground,
While I think thoughts, that are so profound.
Sixty million years or so, you’ve been strutting to and fro,
Knowing nothing of you past, except where the last crumb was cast!
I know so much about you, where you’re from, your type of poo!
I'm like a God who knows your fate; you’re destined for my dinner plate.
You so thoughtless on your way, I'm evolved and here to stay.
I have history; I have sight- your tiny bowels are stuffed with white.
I envy you your little brain, way to small to go insane!
Like all the millions of your kind,
You see nothing with your mind.
he rubbed his eyes
and said you just think that way
so you always have an answer ready
which may well constitute
a state of pure entertainment
with multiple jaw grinding orgasms
in a dog lick dog kind of world
at Cathode Ray's tanning salon
so what would it really take
for the union to lay down with the banker
I'm not sure high above the clouds
is the place to find anything
certainly not a mirror to be had
much less a cinema projector
with scenes of domestication
good god Reginald where
do you plan to put that thing
Reginald sneezed his false teeth
into his dinner plate as an augury
probed prodded palpated
looking for the intelligentsia
in the yellow pages
but they were yellow and didn’t stand out
their attempts to overthrow evolution
led to a cornucopia of calamity
at the crossroads of conundrum
traded their thumbs for a reliable statistic
the atmospherics garbled the transmission
and made anyone look like a prophet
left my friends hanging from lamp posts
adulterers heretics and infidels
cataleptics ablaze with legend
trained by biblical harlots
tending their hornet infested gardens
avoiding the irredeemably antique
and inexact to a criminal degree
in the war between belief and certainty
my script supervisor just pulled the plug
he's not from Sesame Street
he's from Bastille Boulevard
the artist is bait and accident prone
opaque as an 8 ball at high velocity
caroming through every nave and vestibule
bladder control found again
in the midst of bourgeoisie panic
a meditation of involvement
I'm going where
the disorder of discovery is tolerated
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Adorned with shells
Beautiful enough
to be on a necklace.
Faces and bodies
Ugly enough to be
"Movie monsters."
Shells that dot the lawn with
Tan, pink, browns, black and stripes
Desperately try to protect the delicate
"Movie monsters" within from
Mother and human nature.
I carry them off to a
Temporary safety
Whenever I can.
Stuck to my garage door
Window as if to peak in.
Watching us instead of
The other way around.
On my garage door
As if to be waiting
For the moment that
It is opened to jump in.
Hugging my house
And shyly sharing the world
With the rest of us.
Out after a summer rain
Dining on lawn salad.
Farmed for tasty appetizers on
Somebody's dinner plate.
Plucked from shells by hungry birds.
Smashed by a shoe, lawn mower,
car tire, garage door...
It's never a good ending
For the snails.
Empty unbroken shells are
Cherished in my collection.
Boricuuuaaaaaaa pa que lo
sepa. White rice and beans on
the dinner plate got yelled at
by your mom for being 10
minutes late . el coqui you hear
at night the coquito you drink
during Christmas time . Los
timbales hasta La conga musics
in our blood el ritmo nos
Levanta. Familia Es todo and
when times are rough we count
on each other . From el morro
to el yunce Los boricuas
sabemos hacer arroz con dulce
.frankie Ruiz to Marc Anthony
all these salseros will go down
in history .the beautiful
beaches in San Juan sipping on
that Puerto Rican rum ,
dominoe games with the old
timers yelling CAPICU ahora
ganas tu. Puerto Rico se llama
la isla del encanto y cuando
muere alguien rezamos a
nuestro santo. La mujeres son
bella y los hombres son guapo.
El orgullo de ser boricua. No es
tu nacionalidad tipica. Sabemos
cocinar y bailar hasta la muerte
será boricua
Hello folks, I am your loyal fork - but had to laugh
At a comment below' hard to find a loyal one nowadays',
Fish knives are smelly,
Many centuries ago, designed for the sharp edge,
To be away from your face,
So that your nose did not have to brace
Itself, and your mouth was prepared to swallow,
This unsavory taste,
And therefore there was no waste,
No fridges or coolers in those days,
Had to eat what was served, spices and herbs
helped in many ways!
The soup spoon, seems somewhat tubby,
And looks a little, as did mummy,
But ouch, she wouldn’t like that,
She was only just a little bit fat!
But you, the steak knife, who do most of the work,
As you cut through rump, sirloin, pork or fillet,
Your duties like a military man, you never do shirk,
You master all foods proudly, we, the rest of
The cutlery in the drawer salute you,
Deserving of your Officer’s rank,
And we always rally to your defense, and flank
Each side of the dinner plate,
In every continent, country or state.
But who is the flirty one in the cutlery drawer
Why, the dessert spoon of course,
Used puuuurfectly seductively,
To scoop up deserts,
I, says the dessert spoon, make men drool,
As I lift my self erotically, to my mistress’s mouth,
Leaving some ice cream on me, which
She licks with her tongue, I assist her mischievous
Acts of eating with me,
As I enjoy the electric sensual romantic mood,
I’m no bodies fool!
Hey what about me, said the butter knife, as I slip
And slide through butter, and spread this indulgence
With lots of calories and love on your bread,
And of course dear little tea spoon,
Who stirs sugar and milk in your coffee or tea,
Don’t forget me!
So this dilemma as to who is the most
Important in the cutlery drawer,
Is easily solved
All eating utensils are equally involved.