Best Kitchen Table Poems
A poem can be about anything you want
Convey any message you happen to have on your heart
Just find something smart to say - so the words will come gliding
Poetry can be many things
What warms your heart and thoughts
In a moment of joy or relieve your pain
If you do a bad write - your next one will be improved
There is always someone who likes poems that others do not like
The most important thing is that your poem will be to the benefit of someone
As you write - you live
As you live - you write
You can always reach far
if it is not narrow
into the door of your heart
That writing poetry can have a therapeutic function
True and good words about friendship, joy and sorrow
Thank you for sharing
11.08.2014
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Sponsor:Regina Riddle
Contest Name:Writing
- Thank you for my 6th place in contest :)
‘Twas a round table from long in the past
Where a tradition was doomed not to last
Together with parents and children when…
Good manners, love, and kindness would begin.
There were no IPads or phones to be found
Spoken words at the table would abound
Where family games were played just for fun
But then only after the homework was done.
For now, fast food makes a quick family meal
No longer heard the children’s laughter peal
And rarely does a conversation convene
For their words are ‘oft texted on a screen.
Now at the kitchen table, all gathered around
Only bowed heads on keyboards can be found.
The kitchen table
was the centerpoint of childhood,
a place of gathering,
an easel for artworks, battleground
for homework and Eden
for the creation of lifeforms
moulded from plasticine.
It was the Formica altar
on which daily meals were celebrated,
a patch of the real, ground zero
for tears and laughter
and a bench for my mother
to cut fabric into shapes
from paper patterns to sew
together into minor miracles.
The kitchen table was an arena
for games where monopoly fortunes
were won and lost on its real estate -
a surface slapped senseless
in games of “snap”, the pride
soaked soil of the Colosseum
where my Dad and I played chess.
It was a resting place for the hands
and elbows of four generations,
a soak for human pain and hurt
and wore without protest
the hot candle wax and cream
from countless birthday cakes.
It listened patiently as lives
unfolded in language.
The kitchen table was a poem
written not in words, but in wear
and tear and in the morse
of scuffs, scratches and stains
inscribed upon its surface.
I do not know its fate.
Sadly, like the pages
of most poetry,
it has been lost to time.
It deserved better.
Can we sit across from each other again,
at a kitchen table one day?
Blue eyes focused, and steady,
not looking away,
or tempted to sway.
What seemed to be an adversary, callous words uttered of late,
Offering friendship,
and heartfelt apologies, at this late date.
How else to diffuse the distaste,
of verbal arrows sent and landed, unintended,
in too much haste.
Hoping for help, that one might see,
there can still be found some value, in knowing all of us, including me.
It's possible to make a beginning,
from an apparent end. Just decide to bend.
But to start, and know again,
a now unlikely friend,
help from a forgiving heart, would have to start a way,
to open the now locked doors of a mind made up,
to reestablish trust, and give the now lost connection the time of day,
kitchen table monologues 14
we prayed hard once
to some obscure
dime store rag deity
the decrees
the pleas
went unheeded
and we humbly
rose in accord
in disarrayed discord
more was needed
than this
may as well piss
into a warm southernly breeze
and save the skin
on our knees
Ghosts are Better Guests Than Hosts
David J Walker
The ghosts are better guests
Than hosts
as they never dress for
the best occasions
Of course, they are invited to
Join us as the most naked among us
Leading us in translucent prayers and such
Around the round chrome and Formica kitchen table
After all,
ghosts take up so little room
And are not easily scared away
They usually know the worst jokes
And the best gossip of the day
They speak to our children
As if they had known them in
The unseen sometime before
life began
The bad ghosts
Lost their chance
to pick a bone with
someone they’ve known in
life past when out of breath
for the last time an angry death
impassioned and unintended
But
They are family and friend
On the mend
On the other side of life
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
way before the modern malaise,
those family favourite, radio days,
Swinging Blue Jeans, Johnny Ray,
Martha Reeves and Marvin Gaye,
those sentimental songs they played.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
without plastic meals from trays,
those salad days of mayonnaise,
with fablon coated, hollandaise,
and chicken roasted, lyonnaise,
experimental honey glaze.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
mum singing songs of praise,
inside that gravy, misted haze,
where memories are still replayed,
Cilla Black to Doby Gray,
the soundtrack of our yesterdays.
I would always tell people “If you want to change the line of your life and re-write all the stories behind, do not go to visit psychologists anymore, just try to buy a new Kitchen Table instead”.
When it comes with a refreshing waking up at the most earliest morning time, that’s exactly where the new story begins to give you a warm dish even if that’s not much on the table, two unconditional hottest hands on even if nobody have taken other seats, a real sense of sublimity to see whatever of positivity even if your eyes are half-opened and a white reborn version of your new being even if what you had worn so far has been all black-colored memories.
So please just sit and feel taking the first sip of the coffee while your window blue sky rewards you a new image that the new kitchen table write your new being with.
Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh,
Researcher and Poet
Place where we all meet
guests are welcomed for coffee
family table
Family meal time
game time on family nights
good place for writing