Best Tablecloths Poems
What do you do with a fried lemon sandwich
when lavender leaves have messed up its hair
How to you cut it in two equal pieces
while no one is home and you don’t like to share
Why is it sitting alone at the counter
as saucers of milk perform on the stage
Where is the flavor when bland is in fashion
and comic books sing on the very next page
Will you surrender to appetites chanting,
crossing the line where the pickets are white
Shoveling corn flakes when it is not snowing,
flying a kernel instead of a kite
Serving a side that is right down the middle,
leftover vegetables mashed into paste
Like a potato but not very filling,
smothered in ketchup to drown out the taste
Do you like tablecloths made out of vinyl,
just like a record but square when they play
Nothing to spin when you can’t find a needle,
looking through stacks that are covered in hay
Cook books too heavy to fit in your diet,
checking your math while subtracting a pound
Running in place when you’d rather be singing,
wishing the dining room table was round
Can you believe that a poet would write this,
watching a hummingbird outside his door
Smiling from one ear but not to the other
feeling the pinch when his cheeks are too sore
Maybe his mind is a field of distraction
perhaps it is someone that he’s thinking of
It’s a safe bet amid all this confusion
the poet who wrote this has fallen in love
Categories:
tablecloths, humorous, love,
Form:
Rhyme
No one else exists
A crowded city street
strolling a narrow sidewalk,
your hand in mine
Pastel neon lights paint the buildings
in soothing colors,
softening sharp edges,
creating a wonderland
on this cool winter night
A small bistro, street side tables
candle light and tablecloths
tiny dancing flames on white linen
igniting your smile as we take a seat
amidst the din of taxi cabs
racing to find the sunset,
lover’s fare put to good use
in backseat desires
Two glasses of Pinot,
fine crystal offerings
as are your eyes, glistening,
dark chocolate petals
calling me in, hypnotized
free falling into your heart
and I drink them in slowly,
tasting every tantalizing gaze
A toast to us, touching glasses,
touching hearts, changing lives
as I wonder what I have done
to deserve this dream, you and me,
no one else exists, the city bustles
unnoticed as we sip the fruits
of our love on a chilly evening
hoping it never ends…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
…and as the clock strikes midnight,
a joyous noise rings out, streamers flutter in the wind
while fireworks dazzle the skies
and I raise my glass to my friends at Poetrysoup,
wishing them all the happiest New Year!
Categories:
tablecloths, love,
Form:
Free verse
Homeless, destitute with nothing more then a backpack and cigarettes
down the rabbit hole she went, no linen tablecloths just stricken wood,
in a house of ill repute;.
She could not refuse the hunkering of a horny man who lived by threats
so she counted her bills and tucked them in her brassiere with a tear
She cringed when glass smashed and grinded her teeth when she was cold
it was a bordello made surreal by alcohol mellowed Johns who were so old
A bawdy crib, (bagnio del innocente) bath for the innocent...
a knocking shop that foiled the linen and gave shiners to young girls,
no one cared
in this disorderly place, where the stew was watered down with whiskey float
Then came the raid that brought everything to a halt,
in a gestalt moment she found freedom, perhaps her prayers were answered?
Down to the river she went for a bath and a rest,
it was then that she remembered her first time, it was incest *
The wild caged bird had no other place to hide but in this fortress
she slept for days on the grass beside a great big boulder, ,
all the wild animals in the forest thought she was a Princess.
They let her sleep, and fed her pine nuts from the trees. Until this day,
Gianna never mentioned the brothel to anyone, no even herself.
Feb. 20, 2021
Categories:
tablecloths, innocence, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Without Hue
WHITE
a sign in all caps meaning
forbidden
first class
clean and more importantly correct.
Bedsheets and tablecloths
flowing in the night
with madness most great
slowly blanketing the world’s peoples
in a snow of blond descent
while faces of the past that tainted African blood
stare back from the 21st century reflection
ever reminding that BROWN is a composite color.
BLACK
blindness that walks into a brick wall
songs of agony as tears stream down sweat laden faces
tempered by sun and strain
midnight with bleakness unimaginable.
Red and green Seventies' fists held pridefully
in defiant propriety as a word
became transformed from scorn to unity.
Ebony oneness that sounded better than
*****,
dying quietly into African-American.
BLACK is having no color, without hue.
WHITE is having no color, without hue.
Doesn’t that sound the same to you?
1/21/18
What is White?
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
5th place
Categories:
tablecloths, color, race,
Form:
Free verse
The drinks were brought before us,
The rusty pretzels dangle,
Tonight we were exquisitely attired,
Long silk threads and spangles!
Tablecloths in toasty ecru,
Flowers floating in water,
Candle holders lending light,
Loose sparkles; no bother!
The band was playing soothingly,
Strings kissing the atmosphere,
Black and white piano keys,
Spreading music, without peer!
Without a perfect spotlight or
Other prominent disclosure,
They entered, sat, and ordered
Something fruity, perhaps ambrosia!
The splits of champagne followed,
They chatted, giggled, and pranced,
The rustle of their dresses,
Caught our attention, as they danced!
Through glints of light
When they returned,
We watched their coming in awe,
Very sure of what we’d see: So attractive!
We dropped our jaws!
As each of their dress folds fell,
Red and green satin covered by lace,
We adjusted our ties and realized,
How elegant their taste!
Categories:
tablecloths, appreciation, beauty, celebration, night,
Form:
Quatrain
My Monster
Every week on Good Friday I get restless
Palpitations rise for my week end disasters
A monster boldly barges into my silent abode
Depriving me of my peaceful slumber
Crash! Now which crockery has ended its life?
The moment I reach the dreaded site
Littered remnants of mugs and glasses
Sprayed on the kitchen floor
Having an afternoon nap is a crime indeed
The dining tablecloths are scrooped down
And I curse my heavy eyelids for drugging me
I wake up to run and my shoes are not there
The good Lord save me! My kitchen cabins
Are invaded, explored and ransacked
The bright packages are crushed and ripped
Salty and sweety snacks carpet the freshly scrubbed floor
I pads, mobile phones, remote controls vanish
I magically recover my drowning hopes
When their batteries are over
My heart beats louder than the speakers
Strumming the beats of nursery rhymes
Till tiny flakes start peeling off the quaky roof
The iridescent walls showcase
The world's finest art repertoire
Nothing short of an international gallery of art
The monster is finally trapped on the garden swing
Smiling gleefully with an outstretched arm
All frowns erase when the two year old
Bob cut tomboy dramatically wails
Granny! Granny! Granny! Granny!
Contest: My Monster
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
tablecloths, art, child, color, nursery
Form:
Light Verse
It's been covered
by that christmas tablecloth
for years.
You remember...
the one with the large poinsettia pattern
directly in the middle,
with the cranberry stains decorating
sporadic spots along the border.
I almost forgot it was here.
I always hoped somehow a magic trick
would be performed while I was away
and it would disappear before I returned.
The years have passed for me
yet as I do the unceremonious unveiling
time seems to spiral backwards until
I'm sitting on the floor
drowning in a flood of memories.
Yet,
no more tears come.
Time to clean house.
No more tablecloths to cover the pain.
No more boxes to tuck away
the memories that are better off forgotten.
No more excuses for not visiting this place.
No more.
This space is clean now
and will remain that way.
Clear of the cobwebs and dust
that have been clouding my vision
for too many years.
The heavy velvet curtains give a groan
(or is it a cheer?)
as they're thrown open.
Finally, the sun can shine through
and the warmth can be felt
by a heart that was unsure it deserved
to feel the warmth of the sun.
Categories:
tablecloths, hope, inspirational, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
(in John Deere green)
The décor paid tribute to an American icon,
a way of life that built this land.
Did the owner's ancestors farm nearby,
his memories the reason for the John Deere green?
Green everywhere: tablecloths, wooden posts
trim strips on walls, wind-chimes and hanging plants;
not garish or overpowering, but subtle, and pleasing to the eye.
Ceiling beams were lined with strings of Christmas lights,
every bulb in John Deere green.
One old children's hand-tooled saddle—with sheepskin lining
and a cinch made from woven rope—sat astride a dividing rail.
A small shaped mirror near the door, wore a horse-collar frame.
John Deere tractors adorned an entire wall,
displayed on shelves, in framed photos and metal ads,
reflected in large mirrors—evenly
spaced— on the opposite wall.
Locals ate, took no notice. I was enthralled, and ordered
biscuits and gravy, my mind full of memories
of life on the farm, in John Deere green.
Categories:
tablecloths, america, farm, nostalgia,
Form:
Narrative
Her home was my escape
It was an awesome retreat
Full of wonders and surprises
Green glass and old lace
Cut glass and fireplace
A real ticking clock
Fresh laid eggs
Queen Anne legs
And a cracket by the fire
The dresser, complete
With comb, brush and mirror
Tablecloths and silver
A teapot swathed in wool
The folded newspaper
Anchored by a Parker Pen
Reveals a half-completed crossword
Sugar cubes and butter dish
Flank the silver toastrack
But she is gone.
Her essence removed
Like a dying candle, snuffed.
Yes, there is value here
There are pieces which I could keep
To remind me of her.
And yet, as the vultures scramble
for the costliest heirlooms
My heart leads me to the pantry
Row upon row of jars, large and small
Neatly stacked on narrow shelves
Each with a handwritten label
I scan the rows from left to right
But nothing seems of any worth
There are jams and preserves
Marmalades and Pickles
buttons of every size and shape
Ribbons and bows, tacks and collar studs
A myriad of things long removed
from our history and understanding
but my eyes eventually fall on a dusty jar
in the darkest corner, almost hidden from view
and I know I’ve found my treasure
let them have the Wedgwood and the Ivory
they can fight over the antiques
In my trembling hand is held a jar
Which speaks more of Gran than anything else
Gently, I brush my thumb across the dusty label
And tears are born as I read the words:
“Bits of string ( too short to use )”
Categories:
tablecloths, family, grandmother, inspiration, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Glimpses I caught between the swishing traffic
on that sidewalk in cold rain and colder wind
and a cast-off Cleveland Browns windbreaker: a man
tottering a mime of an off-center grandfather clock,
and, oh yes, in a dirty orange unrav'ling
woolen cap with flopping pom-pom.
Then he caught himself, a sudden vision
in that plate glass, and froze as one struck,
arms spread, splayed fingers for balance,
gaping at himself and his wobbling pom-pom.
And I too caught him, uncanny in the black
glass beyond a CLOSED sign, among
the white tablecloths.
And then, my god, he started to dance.
Well... Okay, more of a gaucherie than dancing.
Shuffling, spread-legged tottering (he'd a clubfoot, I noticed)
interspersed (and this is the point) with little
leaps; but now without progressing as
before (if progress is the right word
for going nowhere) along the wet sidewalk.
Minutes — or was it seconds? — he gaped and leapt
and danced while busy folk eddied round him.
Then a rain-beaded bus of limp-faced,
stippled tourists stopped right there,
and I lost him, the pom-pom man, who danced among
the tables of the Café Boulevard.
Well, it was for him, you see, a vision
(for me a far feebler thing, a philosophy)
grand as Milton, Dante, St. John the Divine,
oh, even St. Simeon in the Temple. The ecstasy
of an achieved leap ignores how high you rise
(pace Nijinsky, Nureyev, Barishnykov).
It's how low you started.
Categories:
tablecloths, imagination, visionary,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
At the closest point, Russia and the U.S.
Are less than two miles apart
If an altercation breaks out between them
Using bikes instead of tanks would be smart
Baby robins eat 14 feet of worms a day
Eeew! That's pretty gross to me
If you're a baby robin though you'd be anxious
To slither them down with glee
Cleopatra married two of her brothers
Might have considered it if I had one
George Washington grew marijuana in his garden
A pothead before President he'd become
Q-Tips were originally called “Baby Gays”
For obvious reasons, not a good idea
Tablecloths were originally meant to be towels
To wipe your face after eating tortillas
Cranberries are sorted by bouncing them
Ripe ones can be dribbled like a basketball
Hope their floors are immaculately clean
Else yours truly would be really appalled
Ancient Egyptians slept on pillows of stone
Guess they'd never hear of a Tempur-Pedic
Must have got up in a pretty foul mood
Uttering phrases that weren't too comedic
Did you know Burt Reynolds is a Cherokee
Well Kimosabe, that's a new one on me
A ball of glass bounces higher than a rubber ball
Who owns a ball of glass, that's silly
In our lifetime, we grow 590 miles of hair
Imagine if we never got it cut
We'd need a special valet trailing behind
To make sure in a door it don't get shut
Lightning generates temperatures 5 times hotter
Than those at the surface of the sun
One ragweed plant releases a billion grains of pollen
Allergy sufferers don't think that's fun
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
tablecloths, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
Lacy tablecloths
Sweet music
Red ornamental vestments
Gold tapers flickering
Red bound book
A sip of wine
White cowl on red
Bowed heads, folded hands
Ruby wine sipped from chalice
Folded white linen napkin
Genuflecting nodding heads
In pious agreement
Brown robbed friars faces
Cynosure of white ribbed
Black cassocks
Little circle of bread
Piously put on tongues
Again and again
Row upon row to receive
Gold richly decorated tabernacle
The body and blood of our Savior
Needs to be kept
Under lock and key.
Categories:
tablecloths, allegory, devotion, faith, inspirational,
Form:
Blank verse
Sunlit rays gild a coppery Moon;
intensifying Her golden glow.
And She shimmers like a gold doubloon;
in a creek, where rippled waters flow.
She adopts a halo over time;
highlighting Her celestial ascent.
And like a Goddess, She starts Her climb;
a starlet in this gala event.
An ebony curtain pierced by stars
ushers in the beauty of the Night.
And a red blush tints the planet Mars;
as Venus reveals Her virgin light.
Birds surrender the night skies to bats;
playing hide and seek with skittish moths.
And along with silken welcome mates,
spiders spin intricate tablecloths.
Dark swallows the relevance of Day;
imposing itself upon the Night.
And color silently fades away;
amidst the last vestiges of light.
Categories:
tablecloths, beautiful, dark, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Quatrain
HERE COMES THE HUNGARIANS
A sign hangs like a star upon a building:
“HERE COME THE HUNGARIANS”
Delicious dishes that will please
The American and European palate.
My sisters on the right and my brother on the left,
Pressure cookers upon the stage.
Paprika to make you pretty, will make you blush.
And yes, plenty of sour cream.
Paprikash chicken with sour cream gravy is our specialty,
Served up with plentiful eggs and flour in buttered dumplings ,
With a side of dills or creamy cucumbers.
The four chefs will compete and make theirs the very best.
We will have to expand to sites stemming out from the South.
Our cousins will handle business in the Northeast, near Buffalo.
We already have family involved in flooring and carpentry
And one is the big boss of a well known restaurant.
We roll up our sleeves, the cookers ready – 1,2,3,4…check.
My sisters have a glint in their eyes whilst my brother plays innocent.
I have to tell the truth, one sister’s moved aside, for it is her spouse
Who mixes and pours. The pressure’s on. Dining room’s quiet –
Until the doors open at 5:00 p.m. sharp, and the crowd listens
For the familiar whistles, and the kitchen banter. Wine glasses
Clink over sparkling white tablecloths and they savor the smell
Of onion and chicken, beginning to thicken into browning gravy.
As the customers eat their savory meals, my dad plays
The Hungarian Czardas on his clarinet. And the satisfied
Tongues sway to the folksy dinner with oohs and ahhs.
This five star gem, okay I brag, will rise to historic fame!
2nd Place Winner
9/4/2016
My Imaginary Restaurant sponsored by Silent One
Categories:
tablecloths, food,
Form:
Free verse
When wrinkles settle in the skin
There's not much you can do,
For even Botox rarely makes
Your skin look smooth and new.
But when your clothes or tablecloths
Get wrinkled from the dryer,
An iron helps to make them look
Like textiles to admire.
If I've a choice or wrinkly
Or not, right off the bat,
I'll tell you I like irony -
No irony in that!
Categories:
tablecloths, clothes, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme