Best Set The Table Poems
A wish is hope, all dressed up
A heart that needs to sing...
And I have 3 songs today,
Hopes and wishes, that I bring...
I wish yesterday was today
So I could change some things...
I seem so much wiser now,
A different song I'd sing...
I wish I had the power
To make my fellows see...
That hate wont set the table,
But love is always free
I wish that I could write a poem
That everyone would read...
Something with a message,
To plant a fruitful seed
We all would like to think
That magic might come our way...
And that some Genie just might grant,
Our hopes and wishes for today
I set the table, place for one
Pour the wine, cork undone
Filet mignon, to perfection done
Topped with greens, and a sauce of rum
The evening sets, as it always had
A gourmet meal, aint so bad
I make a toast to the other side
As silence waits, I must abide
As I hold my glass
Of Bordeaux wine
I dare to wish but for one more thing
In darkened silence, the phone to ring
Soufflé simply will not do
There is no sweet without you
The perfect meal evades me still
The evening fades into a chill
Sleep evades my dreamy mind
And in the haze of wishful thoughts
Dinner was served
With a Kiss
Cook white rice with ochroe in
Coconut milk-----stew
Pigs-feet and pigs- tail seasoned
and spiced ------ain't that nice
Yummy Yummy -----now
set the table
Eat
Hot.
Dig in man
A caribbean feast
and juice of lemons
Cucumber, hot peppers, salt
pour into jar------- add
Boil pigs-feet, in iron pot
My heart is the same full of love
My house that shelters it full of pain
But it's autumn in my life, Dove
The hair of gray and wrinkles reign
I set the table full of food
For the family to dine fun times
But it is autumn in my life
When changes prepare for winter
I'm not sure I'll know winter now
For I have not experienced it
But it's autumn in my life somehow
Where beauty glows bright from the depths
Producing leaves of many hues
Love the autumn of my life, Dove
Now all that's left winter's white snow
I think that when winter comes cold
Plants freeze if left out in weather
They will need a warmer place inside
But since it is just autumn now
There's time to prepare room somehow
I still watch the birds from window
They have not all gone away love
But it's autumn in my life now
Soon most will be gone for winter
Winter soon will approach with cold
Seemingly death of the roses
But it's autumn in my life my bold
There are few thoughts of approaching winter
But when winter comes my way
The body rest to rise another spring
Now it's autumn in my life this day
On another day I'll be called by trumpet away
scattered pieces of pretty teacups -
floral, dotted, antiques.
they’re broken, like jars of clay,
and the beauties are you and me.
we find ourselves, abused and ugly,
but God’s already set the table.
we see ourselves through a dark mirror,
but when the light hits us, full on,
in our wardrobe, white -
what designs, colors and accents
shall be revealed. relish
the thought. take
a look at your perfect form
through the eyes of God
8/15/2022
Take out the trash on Tuesday and remember the white bags are recyclable;
Don’t mix the trash with the pig food, we’re saving the world;
Put the yard waste on the curb on Friday after you finish pruning;
Don’t oversleep on harvest days;
Be careful, remember we deal with squash, not squish;
Vacuum and cover the pool today;
Take your shoes off before you enter the house;
Always hold the door for the ladies;
Half-naked girls aren’t friendly girls;
Don’t do drugs for they hinder your mind;
Be sure to keep holy on the Lord’s day;
Don’t cuss for this is the infamous cuss jar;
This is how to tie a figure-eight, this is how to shoot a doe;
This is how to treat your lady, and this is how to treat your foe;
This is how you wear your tie;
This is how you plant the seeds;
This is how you chop a fallen pine;
this is how you hoe some weeds;
this is how you talk to Pops and Ma;
This is how to drive your tractor;
This is how to cook a steak;
But don’t fix dinner for God’s sake—you’re not a girl, you know;
Don’t go shopping, go farming;
Don’t do girly things for you are a young man and must become and old man;
This is how you burn the leaves;
This is how you study;
This is how you use a saw;
This how you change the break pads and this is how you build a house;
This is how you work out—you might want to play some sports;
This is how you take care of your wife and your kids;
This is how you change a diaper like a man;
Sometimes it’s okay to lie, or leave without saying goodbye;
Sometimes its okay to skip work to fix dinner for your lady;
This is how you set the table;
This is how to track muddy footprints through the freshly cleaned house when work just wasn’t good today;
This is how you kiss a ladies hand;
But what if the lady won’t let me kiss her hand?;
You mean to say that after all you are really going to be the kind of guy who a lady won’t let kiss her hand?
“Who cooks for you?”
asked the Bard.
Who prepares your meal?
Do you sup alone?
Any condiments?
Salt perhaps?
Spices?
What are you hungry for?
What appeals to your taste?
When you rise in the morning,
What do you desire?
Is it even food?
Or do you look to satisfy something else?
For what do you hunger?
But aside from all that
Who cooks for you?
Whatever it is you desire,
wherever you may roam,
Who paved the way?
Who set the table?
Who made it possible for you
to breathe,
to laugh,
to cry,
to despair.
to hope,
to love,
to live,
to die…?
Do you even give a hoot?
Who preparest a table for thee
in the presence of thine enemies?
So the Barred h-owls his haunting cry,
“Who cooks for you?”
I'd rather be inside doing the baking
Than the one being baked outside in the sun.
I never learned how to barbecue,
As my Dad ran away when I was only two.
Though my Mum taught me how to shoot for the pot,
Which really hit the spot,
As I could do that without seeing a single sun spot.
My Possum is really quite delicious,
Even if slightly malicious.
I have a habit of making a stew out of rabbit.
Visitors are big on anything made from pig.
It would be a mistake to miss my venison steak,
Or duck out without some roast duck.
My ham and eggs are never green, though quite lean.
Mushroom soup with homemade bread will keep you fed
Til the rest of the food is prepared
You can grub for hu hu grubs for me to roast on sticks.
My roast parsnip contains no arsenic.
I don't have to tout for my trout.
Or make a deal for a pie made of eel.
You can make a toast while I tend to the roast.
Or if you prefer give the gravy a stir.
I won't get cross if you give the salad a toss.
Or set the table if you are able.
We can talk while you find me a fork.
Afterwards I will let you judge my fudge.
If you can still budge.
And I will find some liquor that is still pure.
My apple pie with cream piled high is really worth a try.
Pears with homemade wine are quite divine.
I have an art for the apricot tart.
And you won't get over my Pavlova.
I bake my cakes with fresh eggs which seems to please the hens.
Our honey is worth the money
And our jams are in favour for their flavour.
I produce a cheese that aims to please.
My biscuits soon stray from the tray.
If you want any thing more fancy we can look in the pantry.
With skin cancer on the rise, I think I am wise
In getting up early to watch my bread rise.
Though I am still game to go outside with my gun by my side.
But when the sun starts to hurt the eye,
My oven goes back on high for when you come by.
If you stay the night you can dance under moonlight
And wish upon a star from afar outside of a car.
Wouldn't that be more fun than going out in the mid-day sun.
With your true face scared to be exposed.
‘‘ Honey, I am Home’’, I say.
As I am coming out of the stream
By the river side she is waiting
When she offers me a towel to dry
She whispers this into my ear :
What a good looking man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home ’’ , I say.
When the bully cross her path
And like lion I chase them away
On our way home hand in hand
She whispers this into my ear :
What a brave man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home’’ , I say .
When she misplaces her trinket
And wrongly accuses me of doing so
After jointly search and find it in her pouch
She whispers this into my ear :
What a peacful man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home ’’ , I say .
At the guest house in the city
Where she has her birthday party
When I throw the key of my gift to her
She jumps at me and whispers in my ear :
What a kind man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home’’ , I say .
When she returns weak from work
And I set the table before she asks
After her judgement to all I serve
She cuddles me and whispers in my ear :
What a caring man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home ’’ , I say.
When we sleep and she throws her leg on me
And I quickly throw away pyjamas
So we begin to measure who is the taller
When breth comes down and she sees again
She whispers this into my ear :
What a loving man you are !
‘‘ Honey, I am Home ’’ , I say.
When our son returns from school
And says : mummy I need another shoe
And I go shopping and bring two anew
After he puts one on and smarter becomes
She jumps up and says this into the air :
What a good home I have !!!!!!!
‘‘ Honey, I am Home ’’ , I say .
User’s name : Kayod5
Contest : Honey, I am Home
Sponsor : Dr. Ram Mehta
Christmas in Australia
by Robert (Bob) Moore
Its Christmas in Australia, the weathers stinking hot
got to do some shopping, but I’d really rather not
the crowds are large and noisy, the kids get in your way
and its just so you can buy some things, you have to give away
You dress the tree, and hang the lights, a fairy on the top
you hope you’ve covered everything, but your brain just won’t stop
thinking there is more to do, something you’ve not done
and then at the last minute, to the shops you’ll have to run
You’ve boiled the Christmas pudding, and added a bit more rum
it’s time to set the table, for when the guests all come
we should have done this inside, as the flies begin to swarm
too many clothes, and too much heat, the drinks are getting warm
Is all this really worth it, now I can hardly think
as if things are not bad enough, the AC’s on the blink
don’t think we’ll do it next year, it really is too much
and with the Aussie sunshine, every things too hot to touch
Now friends and family start to arrive, the air is full of cheer
a kiss and cuddle, or a handshake, can I leave these presents here
it really feels like Christmas, when all are gathered round
Singing Christmas Carols, it’s such a joyful sound
Then food is eaten, drink is drunk, we are feeling pretty tired
except the little children, running round like they are wired
it really is a happy day, family and friends are near
we had such a lovely time, we’ll do it all again next year
Before you leave me, my darling,
let me tell you this. When we met,
I was stolen words and borrowed
phrases. Bruised in colour and wretched
Harsh character, bent on self
harm and ruined chances. But,
you became my credo, my Saint
to be adored, breathlessly calm
Your lips were the gateway to
pristine zephyrs and alluring tone.
You were my dress code for the
day and my hair cut for the month.
You were my daily meals and supported
causes. My earth, moon and the space
inbetween. When you walked, your shape
was my thrill. And your coetish lure, my torch
Your eyes were my caves to mine, and your
beauty my arete to climb. Your sun kissed
soul, burned through my clouds, and your
caring thoughts mastered my informal grudge
Your smile became my beeline. And your
grace lifted away the dark taste of grey
from my mouth, and replaced it with
coloured worth
When you leave me, let me know when
you have returned. Drop a cup or fuse a
light, and I shall know you didn't leave me
after all.
And I shall set the table again. Cut my
hair and change my clothes again. Because
I wouldn't want you to think that I had
stopped caring for life after you left me
Or that I threw knives at the world, instead of
love. And had so easily forgotten the messages
you left to guide me to my end. So, let me tell
you this. You are me and I am you.
And all I ask is this.
That you let me close the door first
The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.
Once a year we come together as Americans and celebrate Thanksgiving.
The Indians greeted the Pilgrims, "How", one said.
Perhaps this meant hello, or maybe, just maybe by the grace of God it really did mean how....?
How will we come together and fix a feast? How will we communicate? It is still this way in America today.
A day to Thank God for what we have and the people in our lives.
As we set the table in remembrance please do not forget the harvest.
Life is understanding, faith, hope, giving and giving thanks in this nation; One Nation, Under God, Indivisible... With Liberty and Justice for All.
This year's harvest laid upon the table top.
There's turkey and dressing, potatoes and noodles, with a bit of an implemented side dish of green bean casserole to suit, cranberry sauce of course! My friend may I have some corn before the pumpkin pie?
China or casual, or just a plain paper plate one may wonder. This is some of the abundance we ponder.
The women in the kitchen bring it all together and the men make small talk as the children learn a tradition that they too, will carry on.
There's nothing left in the fields. It's time to share.
It's the harvest!
Winter's soon to appear.
Judy awoke early this cool morning
and climbed out of her soft warm bed;
quietly she moved without a warning
and was gone before anyone was fed.
Judy had long, blonde, curly hair,
eyes as green as the deepest sea.
Her skin velvet smooth, Snow White fair
with a dimpled smile so light and carefree.
Judy felt older, today she turned four
she left everyone still sleeping.
Carefully unlocked the back screen door;
through early dawn she went creeping.
The barnyard animals began stirring
some of them met her in the yard.
Judy, without haste, went a hurrying
while the dog on the porch stood guard.
With pet chicken Susie tailing her side;
Judy walked to the hen house door.
Gently opened the door up wide,
looked about on the damp dirt floor.
In a basket Judy gathered some eggs
carefully placing them in one by one.
Standing beside her, Susie softly begs
until her plotted task was finally done.
Judy crept quietly into the house,
hoping not to awake the snoozing clan.
She moved as silent as a mouse,
since hatching hen eggs was her plan.
On the couch pillow she placed eggs on top
positioned her bottom, sat very still.
Suddenly she heard a crack, crack, pop, pop;
hatching a baby chicken was a thrill.
Judy arose from the pillow to see,
the eggs were all cracked and a mess.
Oh how she wished she were still three;
she knew she would have to confess.
The house was starting to awake;
momma came down the stairs to cook.
Judy must tell mom about her mistake
before her mom decides to look.
Happy Birthday Judy, her momma said;
what do you have in the sauce pan?
Set the table and toast some bread,
call your daddy and sister Ann.
A soft kiss fell on Judy’s cheek
as tears rolled down her somber face.
Judy sat down the pan to speak
and received a soothing embrace.
Momma took the cracked eggs in hand
stirred them up with bacon and cheese.
Scrambled eggs was what mom had planned
promptly served them for all to please.
Copyright © 2005 by Caryl Muzzey
it is a sad, sad tale indeed it is
father passed when i was but a babe
left with mother, sisters, dog, rabbits
there were three parakeets
and they all shared a commonality
they were female, still suspect the goldfish
such was life for me
mornings i had to prepare baths
hang towels, washcloths
then set the table with placings
wake my sisters for their baths
begin their breakfast
as they began to dine
prepared their clothes
cleaned the bathroom
cleaned the kitchen, wash the dishes
i cannot continue in this nightmare
later in life, i would pen this story
set it into a fairy tale
where my heart could always go
and wish this had been my life
sent it off to a publisher
low and behold they wrote
such a children's fable
we will print your story at once
joy filled my heart, my narrative told
and then the shock, the final blow
they had changed everything
even the name was gone
and the world was to be denied
the story of Cinderfella
who won the heart of the princess
and it was no pumpkin
it was a purple eggplant
the color of royalty
i am working on my next book
i dreamed i was orphaned
out of that feminine pit
found a balanced family
and such my new novel
Danne of Blue Gables
the "e" is silent
and pray my four daughters
find it entertaining
gentlemen may i share some wisdom
an adage belonging to the ages
in life there are times
from which there is, alas, no escape
OKC 6/22