Best Napkin Poems
I have noticed her for weeks now,
this same coffee shop,
the same table, the same time each day
I am taken by her beauty, the way she smiles
and sips her coffee, Irish cream I believe,
reading her iPad intently, enjoying herself it seems
I have found myself daydreaming about her,
her wonderful brown hair, not really knowing what
has come over me, there is just something about her
I have wanted to approach her, but I’m not sure how
So I decided today that I would write a poem on one of these napkins
and leave it on the table before she walks in, hoping she finds it
This is what I wrote:
Far of lonely breaths I breathe
Upon yon smile enchanting so
O’er these moments to believe
Gazing soft enchanting aglow
Of this chance I long to feel
Soft the touch of feathered lips
For my love can not conceal
in the brush of fingertips
Take these words which I have penned
‘pon this napkin meant for you
Keep them close as they do send
My poetic feelings true
It’s almost time, here she comes…
My god she is beautiful, I can feel my heart racing,
it is about to beat out of my chest, I’m shaking
She sits down and takes a sip of coffee, turns on her ipad…
come on…it’s right there, in front, wait, she sees it, she sees the poem
She is reading it and that gorgeous smile appears again
Scanning the shop, she notices me watching, smiling at her
Nodding at me she folds the napkin and places it in her purse
then motions for me to join her, my nerves are going crazy
‘Hi, did you write this poem for me?” she asks. “I did,” I answer
“I love it, it is so beautiful.” Then she removes a napkin from her purse
and hands it to me “I wrote this for you.” She says and I am at a loss for words
She has handed me the most beautiful poem I have ever seen
and then whispers, “I have noticed you for weeks, the same table,
the same time…I just didn’t know how to approach you, so I…”
I woke – or did not – and found on my pillow,
Bound by a knot – printed on a white napkin,
Strawberry lips with a pale pink glow;
Then I wished they were copied on my chin.
The only mirror is above the ceramic sink,
In the gloomy bathroom – But I dare not to see:
If nothing I discover, what would I think?
Could this kiss be less true to me?
I can unfold the napkin to place in a frame
Where all will know lips with a heart mold
Or maybe I leave on my pocket hidden from fame
Growing with me - a happy tale – so it’s told.
If every morning came to kiss me awake twice
I will keep sleeping - a third kiss will be nice.
The first time I had been blue,
I remember,
Sitting at the bar,
With the attention of that one person behind it,
Only..
And nobody else.
I wrote my first song.
Gulping down chilled poison,
And lurking the shallow crowd
The smell of beer,
The smoke,
The intoxication beyond reasoning,
Hovering in the humid air like an unscrupulous dream,
I found my poison dripping from my fingers,
Painting the napkin,
Which he gave me with a sweet smile..
The checkered shirt that I wore,
Displayed its dismay, like a lost set of wires
Didn't know where to connect..
My jeans, flaunted skin..and a scar
Through the notched denim,
By a jut, of one fine forgetful furniture..
And, i wanted to get rid of everything,
The blues, the rues,
The parasitic clothes, in the heat of the night
The shoes cried 'RUN! RUN!'
Were my favourites,
So not them...sweethearts!
The clock danced its way with the crowd,
Soon the tables and the chairs
Rebelled for scattering them like lemon seeds
On the busy kitchen floor,
And it was my poison, being poured
Into the napkin,
And into the glass
By that one person behind the bar,
Whose attention I had,
Only...
For one last time,
As after that,
With that same sweet smile,
He handed me the bill..!
The brassy sassy cocktail napkin winked at Jim.
He looked around quickly, wondering who saw.
The other patrons at the bar did not seem to notice.
Have another drink! She said. I’ll go home with you.
He had two more before stuffing her into his pocket.
She had been giving him sexy promises all night long.
“Do you want an extra napkin?” the bartender asked Jim.
He could feel his face getting hot.
Shook his head “no” and ran out of there.
Now they could be alone.
WORDS ON A NAPKIN
I sat there at McDonald’s in grief from recent loss
And asked God why it happened, why I must bear that cross.
I’d lost a precious daughter, one for I oft did pray,
And now so young, God took her to be with Him that day.
Oh, no, she was not perfect, a special need she faced,
But God was there to help me with His sustaining grace.
The memories seemed o’er whelming as tears began to flow,
She’s healed and well with Jesus, that surely I did know,
BUT WHY? I felt like asking as to Him I did cry,
And then I took that napkin to wipe my tear-filled eyes.
I looked down at my napkin I used to wipe my face,
And thought, “God was much like that when He saved me by His grace.”
As I took up that napkin, words came then there to me,
With music in a message I needed then to see.
It’s by His grace I’m carried through every trial of life,
And through His strength then given to deal with every strife.
Then I thought of a napkin He left there in a grave
When He arose victorious so that I could be saved.
He laid it there to show me His work for me complete,
And now His grace will help me in rough ways at my feet.
Thank God He gave that napkin and words I sing today:
That His grace always carries me in each and every way.
Through this event He helped me begin a ministry
That reaches out to others with special needs like she.
Yes, “Gems and Jewels” exists now because of that event,
And I learned a great lesson what carried by grace meant!
Thoughts from the story behind the song, “Carried by Grace,” written by Mollie Smale and shared with our church by Allison Mooney, October, 2015.
Greasy, saucy drips
And ice-cold sips
(That sometimes spill)
Need a thing with soaking skill
Puffy paper that isn't soft
(Blow your nose but not too oft,
Or it'll get red and sore),
Perfect for milk not well-poured
Napkin, napkin! One or two;
Especially messy? Grab a few;
Napkin, napkin! Leave no trace
Much, much better than egg on your face
--
I originally wrote this on a napkin at a Burger King. I left it on a table for someone to enjoy later.
Dried discarded utensil utterly useless when no
longer perform duties, shun slowly you
and me hardly test water prior to corrupt,
sought drive pile yet high, care not be I
problem, speak lack thought though much
goes into being so uninfluential, quiet
longing steps to steppes daily craving can’t
satisfy. Golden spires held spikes by squires
head said go very cold, touch send shiver
crunch vision down to one walk sun, vanish
to dark in sky slumber thy ‘til rise next
appearance calculated in misstep taken often,
vanquish moon and move in, tenderness calm
be emoticons seen shaded, slated
dissuaded perch upon shadow, grown
weary, tickle plenty heavy in heaven,
sown gown shrouded in casual
conversation rather unpleasant as may
allow, cower (stop stimulation)
This was written the moment i heard her laugh...
A laughter splits my silent thoughts and sends me to my knees,
A noise ive never heard before is fresh like morning dew,
yet harder still to remove than frost upon my window.
I watch or rather hear the drops that run like unbroken water,
in formations never tamed not unlike waves above the water.
I am left with audible memories of the sound of a girl laughing,
and freeing my heart in the process.
A dance of fire
and a Rootbeer
smile,
chewing french fries,
watching skin dry.
Hot dog buns show us
the true murderers.
salted pretzels
the sinners.
~ink flowed on napkin, becomes "Wings of a Butterfly," my first poem...~
How My First Poem Was Born Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by JCB Burl
Date written: 10/05/2020
God took a vacation
when time had run out
Rethinking his opus
replanning devout
His Angels in limbo
the devil on leave
Heaven a sublet
sin now reprieved
Faith worn and tattered
the bible debunked
Crusades a bad memory
the Grail marked as junk
He orders a cocktail
the waitress comes back
A napkin — her number
salvation highjacked
(The New Room: December, 2023)
Can napkins not esteem or honour
a history of being placed gently on laps
to catch, take hold of,
what is carelessly spilled or dropped,
used then to pat lips
before being rumpled tenderly, after eating,
and placed carefully at one's side?
At a table in a bar,
a paper napkin on my lap,
I look at friends:
they have their napkins
sitting at the sides of their plates,
on that table, folded, ignored, untouched.
Is there something wrong with me?
(11 Dec 2023)
I just found a note
that I wrote in the bar
I need to stop sitting in trees
I need to stop sitting in trees
See the tops of the trees
swaying in the breeze
They say that's the place to be
but I don't think so
I see the force of the wind
making them bend and bow
And I know that force is force
but salvation is how
you make it on your own
Mr Napkin Holder
What troubles or
afflicts Mr Napkin Holder is
voices on a
speakerphone are too
loud, are too
confident, the smell of
instant noodles, and
those who say aka instead of
saying
also knows as.
Whilst we, comfortably, sat
In a not so trendy bar, over a pack
Of Marlboro Light and a bottle
Of Bandol wine,
He wrote his poem
On a piece of napkin, moving me
To sit closer, next to him, to read it;
His words and style were beautiful
And well-crafted; perfect, for an
Enameled frame, for my room’s boring
And empty wall, I thought.
The final stanza, vividly, speaks
Of his true love
For me….only for me, a promise;
And, he ended it without a period or
A question mark;
Yet, I decided to place a period on it,
Even though he asked me not, but I must…
Upon hearing this angel’s little voice:
“Mommy…mommy, look!
There’s daddy, with a young lady!
Will she be my nanny?”