Best Spoons Poems
...A poem
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
if you
are mutant
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship .
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
the handle
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys...
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
Then comes
the period
like an empty plate.
to contain
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters...
Where are they now the fighters?
Fighting for their freedom as well as ours
Survivors of those turbulent war years
The silent heroes
Saving us
Sparing us the trauma they faced
Hiding from us their fears
And the actions forced upon them
The nightmare’s they faced
Were theirs alone
They sheltered us with their silence
And now we curiously pick at their wounds
Dig into the memories they tried to forget
So that their sorrow becomes our sorrow
Their mistakes not forgiven and forgotten
But displayed before a changed world
Silver spoons stolen, a tragic union
Children taken … so long ago
Even their stories are silenced by death
If only we could respect their hard fought lesson
That Silence is golden
Moon Spoons
We dive into each other with love from highest peaks of the mountain
quench our thirst with no parachute needed as we drink from the fountain
in free fall we enter the kingdom and queendom of passionate devotion
no hidden agenda self-righteousness gone just poetry and poets in motion
In words and all touch of the senses we scribe on intermingling tapestry
we dangle in suspense and fulfilment like chocolate milky stars in a galaxy
of kindness compassion held by emotion’s gravity solar powered and moon
when we met you promised to fetch it if you possibly could with a spoon
I replied that we would knit and harvest scoop up our journey together
catch dreams rainbows reality strong like a castle and light as a feather
two butterflies mating our soul mind body stellar constellation narration
scribing our infinite story of fairy tale attraction love smith’s pollination
Joined at hippy hips mind feeling flowering bodies and soul’s contemplation
we float further and further like purposive driftwood in tidal association
are all always and all ways reciprocate cupid’s arrows and fluttering hearts
sift through sediments previous losses chart thunder and light for a new start
Your rhyme and your rhythm convulses gently with my meter muse lute
the soft touches of skin on sugar coated layers of consciousness funnels flute
crevice and harbour safe havens hot lover’s lava fired in loving embraces
cuddle share solace transcend into tender time peaked pinnacle’s places
Words alone can never by a mile explain what it means to have you by my side
my lover soul mate best friend and pleasure’s companion day and all night
when we were in our darkest torrents devastation and it felt like a monsoon
we simply fell into love with each other full spoons ahead and into the moon
20th September 2016
Spoons. . .
Bright and shiny artful spoons,
How much she loved them.
They covered her mauve walls
In rich wooden frames
Encased behind glass.
Each unique silver spoon
With its own special story to tell.
There was Montana. . .
A silver cowboy riding a
Bucking bronc, enamel inlaid,
On a twilight blue sky
In a shield shaped form. . .
Each spoon from a different
Place--each contained bits
And pieces of her past.
She recalled the spring day
At a rodeo filled with surprises
And how cold her ears were.
How he dropped his truck keys
In her lap to keep safe for him--
How they later danced the two step
And how warm her ears became.
Oh yes, her Montana spoon was
Indeed a very special spoon!
Then there was New York with
Niagara Falls depicted on the handle.
A flood of romantic emotions returned
With this little beauty, maid of the mist
Engraved meticulously in its bowl.
The thunder of the falls-- how they
Kissed her cheeks, how He kissed
Her cheeks, and how they both laughed.
Oh, New York would never be forgotten!
Then there was Arizona. . .
A tiny replica of the Grand Canyon
Encircled with desert flowers
Adorned its rust colored handle.
She recalled how she arrived at dusk.
How she marveled at the friendliness
Of the deer walking in the parking lot.
How her camera slipped from her hands
Into his. She remembered that was
The moment they met. He too was a
Photographer there to capture the sunset.
How the coffee they shared warmed
Their hands—how he warmed her heart.
Row after row, spoon after spoon,
Wall after wall. . . . could tell it all!
For the contest: "Simply, Absolutely, Utterly Just Art"
Sponsored by: Sami Al-khalili
June 01, 2008
Silver Spoons
The disruption and the dismay left my will fray.
Corrupted and disillusioned are the eyes that see.
Bottled up and distilled are the souls sitting to be.
I’m just stunned they were all left being that way
Duck, duck goose I’ll tap their heads as they pray.
One, two and three I will count every drop of tea.
Lucky for all them I’m a gift that has been set free.
Maybe I’ll serve them silver spoons on a new tray.
Tempted and defeated they slobbered at the mouth.
Disgusting and ridiculous I accepted their true fate.
Undeserving and unworthy it makes me head South.
I tell you it is a true fine line between love and hate.
They power and feed off of one to another.
To be or not be I'll ask a Heavenly Mother.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2008
If you think that money brings happiness, then you're wrong....
that thought makes your heart weak, you got to make it strong...
kings too cry inside their castles...
and fight their own hidden battles...
Everybody is good at wearing plastic smiles...
hiding their problems which are in piles...
silver spoons aren't always a blessing...
so think twice before wishing...
Money can't revive a lifeless heart...
or break two souls apart...
do not let dollar signs blind you...
and do not judge others without a clue...
The rich hide their tears behind Ray-Ban shades..
and feels helpless even with hundreds of maids...
happiness is self driven...
so be thankful for what you've been given...
Silver spoons sit at evening diner tables
Forks and knives acompany these lonesome
Silver Spoons.
No one orders soup, but instead a large steak,
with mashed potatoes and gravy, with steamed vegetables.
The fork and knife are put to good use,
As the silver spoon sits there and watches,
As grimy hands, man handle the knife and fork
violently cutting away at the red meat.
Silver Spoons smile, thanking they aren't used
for steaks and mashed potatoes.
But silver spoons meed to be used too.
Waiting for one day, during lunch rush
for someone to come in and sit and ask,
"What is the special for soups today?"
Silver spoons brighten their eyes and smile,
but that time never comes.
Just another guy ordering steaks, or a hamburger and fries.
Poor silver spoons, not even used to stir their customer's coffee,
they use knives, instead of silver spoons.
Poor silver spoons, waiting for a beautiful woman to come in and order the soup.
We choose our scoops with our silver spoons. Try and deny that it's coming soon.
Don't fool yourself when you're giving up. Just sip your drink from the dirty cup.
And where the fiddler plays. Is where the woodland creature stays. And every single day. Comes and goes in blurs then fades.
Now everybody knows you, but you do not know yourself. Loved ones try to save you, from your lost journey toward hell.
And it's a shame. You've let yourself go this way. But everything will change. Someday.
Dressed in bells and whistles too. Force that smile pretend it's through.
But the tides will change with the shift of the moon. And a warm bright day will be fogged with gloom.
And where the children play. Will be destroyed and deemed unsafe. And
everything turns gray. The price you pay for one mistake.
Now everybody loves you but you do not love yourself. The hurt and guilt you feel inside is the kind you'll never tell.
And it's a shame. You've let the world push you away. But everything will change. Someday.
You cannot destroy me but I can destroy myself! I don't want your sympathy I do not need your help.
Just kick me down spit in my face and tell me one more time! How much you simply hated me, back when you were mine.
So choose your scoops with your silver spoon. I'll deny being in love with you.
Don't pride yourself when I've given up. Just force me to sip from your poison cup.
And where the earthworm plays. Is where I'll find my peaceful grave.
And every single day. Life remains nothing has changed.
Now everybody misses you, but you feel right at home. This life has made you realize, you're better off alone.
And it's a shame. You let yourself go this way. Everything will change. Someday...
There once was a girl from the south
Who had a hard time with her mouth
Boy with same issue said, (S)"poon!"
She said, "Not poon! We say, "poon!"
Correcting his speech without doubt.
To thin girl we constantly had to say,
"Pull up your pants, the moon shines not in day!"
She noticed my shirt, cut low...
"Mrs.Crystol! Your buttcrack shows!"
Sure enough, too much cleavage on display!
Uri had a little spoon
He stroked it with intent
And everywhere that Uri went
The spoons were proper bent
© Gail Foster 23rd March 2019
With Careful Spoons
Your perfume essence speaks of lazy afternoons under sage trees.
You kissed my bent neck with a pointed snake of sweet saliva eyes.
Now we are twisting inside my slow tilted bedroom with creep shoes.
Your gray short skirt shows slender legs flashing firm nylon divots.
Panties white and tight beckon my touch amidst the soft furniture.
Lips gesticulating now with puckered tentacles made of sugared spit.
Taloned fingers with pink polished probings find the noble charge.
Music-playing minestrone tasters come to dance with careful spoons.
Why have you lead me into this frothing dream web of lilac spume?
We kiss now with mind-rushing lip lashings glued to the secret night.
We delve now with our bending statuary into the new morning light.
i've often been
off and on
again in
situations
relationships
just about every
thing and so i
have found
not a
remedy
but solution
to giving up my
mind to fate
by taking
a coin
picking heads
as a yes tails as
a no and throwing it
in the air then
catching it
flipping it
over to
avoid any
tinkering with
chance and so
should i pursue
my master's degree
should i ask for her hand
in marriage
should i post
this poem and
the list
goes on
as so does
the toss
but wisely
said by Yogi
Berra
if you come
to a fork in the
road
take
it
Snowman spoons we tenderly made,
Some looked sickle and some looked spade;
Snowmen on cocoa hot,
Lay forethought spot forgot;
On each, our kitten made a raid…!
29 November 2022
Lecturer came in class boasting
ready to lecture to students
in his hand was a nice brief case
not of lecture materials
but of something else
it was a brief case of spoons
He stumbled and the thing fell
unwashed plates, saucepans, spoons
scattered all over classroom
students run out scared
laughing and bending with laughter
covering their mouth to control laughter
“free film, free film
come and see proud man’s scandal”
they shouted as they laughed
They hid their faces
for fear of academic punishment
in case noticed
by the angry.
The sweat was wiped off the brow
The spoon was stirred as they knew how
For 18 times they tried to win
A story state to be in
And KG woke to find a haul
Of wooden spoons counted one and all
How to curb such an embarrassment
Even when The Advertiser had it sent
So they dili and dali about
Or how do I let the hurt and shame out
A summer now so quietly spent
Looking as bad as Tex’s ear is bent.
© Paul Warren Poetry