Best Uneaten Poems
The table's bounty is piled high
Family's poised to dig in and try
Mama's turkey, special stuffing
And sweet potato pumpkin pie
When a knock at the door freezes us all
Who can it be who's come to call
The wind is howling; let him in fast
There's room for one more at our repast
He enters shivering and shaking
His bony frame twitching and quaking
He opens his mouth as if to speak
Then collapses to the floor in a heap...
The ambulance summoned, we wait aghast
Silent and anxious, when at last
The ambulance arrives, but it's well past too late
The poor fellow's soul has fled to its fate
The Thanksgiving meal sits now uneaten
As our tears reflect the depth of man's plight
These sad tidings fortune cannot sweeten
~ Death has extinguished a light
I tiptoe through empty rooms,
lest my footsteps evoke his presence.
I gaze at cracked linoleum,
still bearing marks
worn into it by the old table legs.
Mother's face floats through
the smoky windowpane,
her sorrowful eyes pleading.
Neil stares downward
at the uneaten food
congealed on his plate.
Sarah's face is buried
in a limp rag doll,
clutched to her breast.
I glance down the hall,
past the bedroom.
I will not go in there.
No need to visit old pain.
I turn my back
to the silent, cold house
and walk away from my past.
Hunger is worldwide; I don't understand why
Trash cans are filled with untouched food
Starvation is real; why must another die?
We can feed the homeless from our food supply;
Or help food banks, it can brighten their mood,
Hunger is worldwide; I don't understand why.
Wasting food is a major issue, we mustn't deny,
We should help if we can and stop being rude
Starvation is real; why must another die?
It's affecting us all; do you hear the earth’s cry?
Not just a “them” problem, I must conclude
Hunger is worldwide; I don't understand why.
We fill our belly with everything that we buy,
And see someone in need and are often shrewd
Starvation is real; why must another die?
Restaurant plates have a ton of uneaten food; sigh,
Our waste can be a lifeline to the homeless dude.
Hunger is worldwide; I don’t understand why,
Starvation is real; why must another die?
Thursday, April 26, 2001 12:47:49 AM
Treasures of the Spider
Spider!
Beware of
the night feeder.
Tiny bat wings, swifter,
than the absence
of light, silent, merciless
terror.
By morning,
I survey the remnants
of your web, rent and empty
of you, just tiny whispers
of your once, existence.
Your uneaten prey,
all neatly wrapped
and dangling-
as a reminder
of all
that we
can't take to heaven
Suzanne Delaney
Written for a Golden Orb spider I
named Spideress.
See note - ScientificName: Nephila maculata
The golden orb weavers are one of the largest spiders. Their webs can be found hanging off sign posts, in or between trees and can even be spotted driving 100 km/h in a vehicle. The females can measure up to 45 mm while the smaller males measure only 6 mm. The male is often found in the web of his girl friend. Beside the male and the female boarders resides in the web. They are called quicksilver, dewdrop or droplet spider because their silvery body shines like drops of water in the sun.
Their webs stretch to a diameter of one meter between trees. It is easy to accidentally walk straight into one as they sit in the middle of their web.
It belongs to the golden orb weaver family, which is why its silk is yellow, and this silk is the strongest of any spider. Sometimes small birds or bats get caught in it
Give me a piece of your body
before you go.
A tooth, a nail, a curled hair.
A relic, my sadness wants to keep.
By your absence I will live
in the bones of tangled bodies,
who were shot down on their tracks
under the sun, eyes apart.
The trembling does not stop.
Bread loaves were lying uneaten.
Wailing rises, reaching a crescendo.
Blood splattered soil, my hands collect
for god, to show a dirty game,
when I meet him as a witness.
Wanting to know, why not the right to live
was the most sacred thing?
SATISH VERMA
One stone… but please not one ounce more!
Just three cheese straws… or was it four
Nut-crackers made for breaking in
To hardened shells with nuts within
Candies there to tempt my eye
Selected as I wander by
Soft mint creams with chocolate skin
And one more glass of gin
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Two stone… but please not one ounce more,
Those pigs in blankets, I adore
Turkey; roast with stuffing in
Sparkling wine instead of gin
Gammon with an orange glaze
Honeyed parsnips hold my gaze
Cocktail sausage on a stick
And gravy rich and thick
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
Three stone… But now it’s nearer four,
Dad, your pants don’t fit no more
Wife says, “Slice of cake for you?”
I say, “No,” but then I do
Mince pies, cake, profiteroles
Christmas pudding, sausage rolls
Custard, jelly, squirty cream
Tried the scales… but hear me scream!
…
…
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
One stone, two stone, three stone…… and FOUR!
My tum’s a shadow on the floor
I was male but now not sure
For I can’t see the proof no more
But sausage rolls that went uneaten
Were never gonna see me beaten
So, it’s diet meals drunk through a straw
Like every Christmas gone before
Oh contraire… my Frigidaire
Is full of sherry trifle
I took a little peek in there
A truly festive eyeful
I’m fit to burst but I don’t care
For Christmas MUST HAVE trifle
I’ve got a bowl, I’ve got a spare
I’VE GOTTA HAVE THAT TRIFLE!
What we call a stone, is, in fact, fourteen pounds
But this British measure so often confounds
About the same weight as two newborns in prams
It’s also called Six point three five kilograms
I dip my pen into an inkwell of memories
it's 1967 and I am young again
the winter hills were mountainous
as I trudged home from school
and back again;
Soggy mitts and silly smiles
lopsided hats, and fury coats that held no heat
cold pressed and uneaten ice cake,
snow squalls brushed against reddened cheeks
and buckle boots that crunched the virgin snow
With eyes pinned to the floor
I made it to the front door
Grannies foamy smile and apron white hair
told me I was loved twice over;
7/5/2019
"Possums on the Run - Part 1"
Well she ran away
danced the F.U.
Revolutionary Dance
Jokers are trumps
Euchre, 500,
Queens Slippers
no Deuce, no Romance
Holey holy
blue jeans torn and buried
underneath the house
with uneaten sandwiches
going mouldy in plastic lunch bags,
old unwanted items, school books
torn pages, hessian bags, burnt pots,
newspaper wrappings fading
tales of the city with
dreams of necromancy.
She’s upstairs deliberating
sitting at the kitchen table
writing her stories
Over with doing the dishes
done with Rainbow Princesses,
homework squats and
buried small town garbage runs
over strawberry jam and creamed up
Sunday Cream Buns.
A good day out
some holiday
collecting cut grass
she stands watching
red skinned motor mower man
barking orders
while the other daughters
stand en garde cross-armed
no hat, sun burnt,
barefeet, blistering in the
boiling Sun.
En Garde, patiently waiting
watching Frilly Lizard Black Boy
Kangaroo Paw Hibiscus
“There’s a tortoise under the
outside dunny!”
there’s a flaming tortoise
on the run
slow mode
totally bizarre,
wonders where
it came from…she thinks,
“run tortoise run”.
She knows better, she’s 17,
she’s the Dancing Queen,
she’s Top Gun.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
1. .... x
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZUX3j6WLiQ
For all daylight hours of this magical season
I lingered along the edge of a lake and
Was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves
And all sounds are as crisp as autumn air.
The leaves fall and the wind blows
Pastures smell with uneaten placentas
The lovely autumn days, the new mown hay.
Pigeon in the morn, cuckoo in the noon,
Corncrake in the eve, the wasps in the jam
The smell of gorse, the look of the gorse.
Apples falling, children walking on leaves
Larch turning brown, the chestnuts falling
Winds howling, the sea breaking over the pier
The milkweed pods are breaking and
Bits of silken down floating on breeze
I stood for a while under autumn tree
The cripple wind moved among the leaves
Voices of the insects, deer by the fence
This autumn dusk has brought me tears.
+++
January 4, 2015
Form; Free Verse
Third Place win
It was in the dark of night
When the owls cried and the ravens cawed.
That’s when the candle lit dinner for two was served,
Spread on the red tablecloth of savoury sight.
Mumbling whispers of love breached the silence
In the eclectic electricity of brushing bodies,
Announcing the passion to come of our fiery essence,
But the dawn will drown the expectation.
The stained plates with sticky crumbs of broken love,
The pan with the fried mess of an uneaten passion.
Littered the kitchen sink as hope sunk in the hopeless oblivion.
There’d be cleansing as the brush wiped away the sticky fervour.
Of the love that never was,
Of the dream that was an illusion,
But the two plates still bear the crack and mark of that fallen love.
(They) Rush past me
With the rest of humanity
Past the catches (break)
In the winds
The grazing (pleasures)
(The) raw and (bitter)
Creating the new ecosystems
Of some future minds
It’s just cold—don’t (shiver)
Lie they screech
In languages un-human (inhuman)
The (last) supper
Was left uneaten (forever)
Leave the riffs
Unsatisfied (Idolized)
Slightly off-key and open
So your hearts (are) left draining
Hear the emptiness
Feel… (desperately)
Gibberish, half-baked
Disjointed, grotesque
These prematures--
Ejected from my mind (packed)
Too full of the things to come
Spilling unto today (of all days)
All my seeds of tomorrow’s (genius)
Oh never mind that
Spend those disparate lines
(And) so nobody understands
Agonized
Just you (stupid) words
Leave me alone
You’ve created nothing
Drug me down
They said I should act my age
the committee of higher ups and wanna be’s
all perfect citizens in good standing of the co op
where we shared a common postal code
and little else
hell…. lets be honest ….nothing else
waiting in their self built quieu of crossed t’s and dotted eyes
as if they were orderly soldiers
waiting to be dispatched on a daily crusade
to make sure the hallways were always tidy
your name plate not too big….and certainly never too small
the elevators went up and the elevators went down
that dogs kept their owners on a leash at all times
stay on the path…. stay on the path…
don’t you know you must stay on their path to be one of us
I started to believe the rumors
that even the candles on their birthday cakes
stood perfectly erect for hours
as the burning wick took all that there was to take
leaving the solitary evidence of their existence
a mere pool of cold wax
spent …listless… shapeless…
not even the scent of ever being here remained
having been blown out to sea
by the whim of nobody cares anymore..they never truly did
a life had simply come and gone as if it had never been
like an unused paper plate waiting to be discarded in a garbage bag
recyclable of course or at least that was the dream
or perhaps it was it the plan
A life unlived is a song never sung
an uneaten morsel of chocolate cake
laying under a layer of calorie reduced icing
of course why would you want to enjoy icing
as you counted down the days the minutes
the seconds…… your heartbeats
to arrival at never never land
do they not know
has no one else been brave enough to tell them
none of us… none of us… none of us
get off the planet alive
let me eat the cake of my choice please
I’ll take the large one…
if you don’t mind
Irish
THE UN-S Have IT
Imagine HOW Lonely IT'D BE
If you were an un-
How would you look as undesirable.
Would you want to be unseen?
Could your love be undeniable?
Would you leave words unspoken,
or stories untold?
Would your actions be unbelievable?
If you were a piece of fruit
would you remain uneaten?
Are your thoughts of things unspeakable?
Does your attitude keep you untouchable?
Are your experiences unmentionable?
Do things tend to be left undone?
Bonnie J Hollywood-Cutts
5-10-06
If you answered yes to any of these then you are a living un
An unfinished afternoon lies strewn across my desk
Along with an uneaten breakfast neglected by my left
While I tap-tap-tap my fingers absent-mindedly on the table-top
As I impatiently await for the time
When along comes my long-awaited passer-by
Now here she comes! Here she comes—
Like an Eastern sun rising through the darkened dawn;
She with gaiety a-light on those Oriental eyes
That further gleams with her every greeting and a smile.
Yet I—I could not meet those eyes
For fear that upon that good morning greeting
I would simply die and...
How many seconds passed, or moments did?
I finally to myself did ask,
For when I came to from that spell though fleeting
She was in front of me at last.
Her smile now mine, my gaze was hers
And my wandering mind left me to wonder
How close she was that I could reach for her hand
And it would be as much
Silkenly as I imagined her skin would be at my touch;
Or how exhilarated—enraptured—would I be should her heart
Be confined within the circle of my arms.
The world would be a place less lonely—alas,
If only reveries could last!
Now did I greet in kind, nor even spoke at all?
I finally to myself did ask
For when I came to from that spell though fleeting
She'd been a couple paces past
And there I was left standing, a fool with nothing
But the trailings of her scent
That flowery fragrance she adorns herself with
For a beloved must be meant.
Thus with such small tokens as smiles and scents
I keep myself contented
And feed my endless reveries
Imagining a time and place where her love
May at my mercy be
Though I wake from those daydreams empty
Disheartened by the dawning in my mind that desire
Is a thirst that in my throat dies
Each and every time.
Each and every time.
Yet by this time tomorrow I would still be by my desk
And an unfinished afternoon still strewn across as well
Never reckoning if ‘tis worth my while waiting,
Though I would still be waiting for the time
When along comes my long awaited passer-by.
CECE YA FAMILIA, HONOR, LIKE TWINS
She is looking at mi with love.
in her eyes and a look..
concerned about her bro...
i try to second guess her
today she inst playing ball
she stares back determined..
hedging me between a rock
and a hard place.. i know
she knows my secret and
she knows.....i know
i do know she wants me to
confess... am tongue tied
she implores for the last time
its like my tongue is immobilized..
i mumble an incoherent sorry..
what did you say..she asks
i try to talk ...end up choking
how can i tell her what am
sworn never to reveal..
my word is my honor..
but the secret is killing me...
and i cant share with her thou..
I love her so much.. thou i know
she already knows.. for we are like twins
second guessing each others thots...
cece..like twins
where is the family honor..
she walks out on me..
leaving my cheap lunch untouched..
i wander ....if it was in a five star hotel
by the beach would she av done the
same.. plus she kept looking at her phone
and i realized there was no winning her...
she had sold her heart to another
whose tongue was very fluent.
using french with words like.. amour
amour tata tinauma..amour..
word i dont know how they mean
tata tinauma.. could be the name of a god..
for all i care...
amour tata tinauma.. my stomach pains
and she was off.. nearly being hit by the bus
she didn't see me looking out of the
balcony as she fell into the hands of her
beloved... amour tata tinauma
and cece my sista ran into the hands of
her lover.. am yet to give him
a piece of my mind for he broke her heart
amour tata tinauma ...cece left her food
and rushed in the hands of her beloved...
who ended insulting our beloved mama..
she left my cheap lunch uneaten,
amour tata tinauma..and cece forgot..
like twins we are- where is the family honor
....ya familiaa honour eku sista..
am practising the lingo
for i know, sisy like twins
where is the family honour,
ya familia cece.. you will be back
like twins..ya familia honor
cece the one true love..familia..
for my sista love will always be there..
And honor for am full of it..cece
lewis nyaga