Countertop Poems | Examples

Roaches on a Filthy Countertop

They're everywhere now...
when lights dim in the corners of society
swarming like cock roaches to a filthy countertop...
strutting around on stage in crystal, ego bubbles.
Telling us what to eat- what to wear- how to think
when they're sloppy, unhappy and quite obese.
They tell us how to pursue peace
(when peace is already here) ...
They even tell us how to walk and breathe.
Guaranteeing great wealth and healthy mind
if you follow their step by deceptive steps...
if you sip from their magic fountain of B.S.

The truth is that the only way they've "made it"
was from the blood of our lack of confidence
from the flesh of our insecurities.
Truth of the matter is most of them think 
they've sprouted wings and can hover above the sea.
they think they can upstage and outshine Jesus...
I could care less if I ever hear from them again.

Smirk

In our maniacal world madness cosplay nativity.
When sanctuary is cynical take cyanide outside in 
a synchronized social suicide. 
Life at your disposal realize life is disposable.

Lacking eye warble, below-zero countertop marble.
Stumble over the five o'clock Hobble.
Humble, Crumpled up macro-cookie crumble.
Spade shovel buried down transient mumble.

Blood musk parfume; false whale entrails. 
Innards inward into inferior interior design.
Set fire to the nativity scene, in our maniacal world
It'll still continue in laughing, surround sound loud.
It'll still narcissistically orbit around me.

Outstanding flavour; some forever ever-lasting long. 
Ever-after ended up ending fantastic. God dammit.
Gob-smacker, toe tapper, boot-smacker. 
Folded laundry lay on the nighttime pavement.

It'll still go. 
In the Age of Spin.

It just happen.
No way, It just happen?
It just happen.
It go like it just happen.
It go how it just happen.
What happen? 
It just happen.

My Husband Leaves

the jelly lid too tight again. 
I twist and twist  
until my palms sweat,  
glass slipping like his promises.  
When it finally gives,  
the seal breaks with a pop,  
a red smear blooms across 
the countertop, and I slick  
my fingers through this mess,  
taste sugar and iron.  
It’s the only sweetness he’s left.

Banana Bread

When life gives you lemons

You make lemonade

I am a banana

A beaten and bruised banana

Too ugly to sit on the marble countertop in the kitchen

Wouldn’t want the house to look poor and unkept, right?

The good news is that there are layers to the banana

The bad news is that when you peel the unappealing-looking exterior, a mushy interior meets your eye

Too soft to enjoy without leaving a bad taste in your mouth

When life gives you a banana like this

You make banana bread

I am a banana

I can’t make banana bread because I am a mere ingredient in the delicious pastry

I am the unwanted ingredient that can magically turn useful by the powers of others

I need flour to hold me together and keep me from going all over the place

I need sugar to make my softness appear sweet to others

I need baking soda to help me rise and grow out of my imperfections

And I need someone willing to put in the effort to make me into tasty banana bread

Damn, I want some banana bread right now

Who’s cookin’?

all day long!

The sponge was smiling back, to me, with all those arithmatics, done dishes
(a predestined setting) 
Cordial, versatile with a blatant truth, to shy from a trochaic, rythmic sounds 
The killers are a synnonym for strumming fingers, almost an ensuing song
Although, an earnest rush felt reckless for a neckless tie, almost all day long!

The Yellowstone and prayer bids, sung high, from windowpane, a golden, rich
The twilight icebreaker, a melting sun, o'er all those or these, yet to preach
Sudden depth of random droplet clouds, an earnest, already trying too, along
(journey back to home, alone) 
with a rusty indifference, assuming shining countertop, sporadic, all day long!

A long gone cozy knit, with a brief, tightly fit 
A tea set, already to reign 
to wrap all these, altogether, to a duo,  misfit 
there, then, start again!

3-10-2024

A New Refrigerator

Her new fridge 
set as a giant gleaming jewel between
clean countertop & faithful kitchen cupboards

Icemaker
amiable crispers bins & shelves 
cavernous freezer with sensible sliding drawer

She’d paid cash 
using her hard earned own money
smartly side-stepping debt & obligation

The old fridge
battered exterior puny packed interior
bleeding cold & ice cube trays always plundered 

It was his
revered bachelorhood relic 
when it failed she feared she’d lost everything

She kissed
her kitchen’s cherished crown jewel
its powerful compressor cooling her mind 

(published in “London Grip”, 2022)

Coffee

I wake up a little groggy

the nights, especially, are difficult for me

I didnt get a whole lot of sleep

I wander my way wearily into the kitchen 

and reach my beloved coffee pot

The countertop around me has small circular brown stains.. each one containing a memory

Reminding me how it used to be

I blink the heartache from my eyes and go about my morning ritual

The sunshine pours through the window 

and the warmth sinks into my bones

I get lost in my thoughts Til’ the lush and irresistible aroma pulls me back to reality 

I pour myself a steaming hot cup of temporary happiness

I quietly sip away at all of my broken memories

The Scent of Breakfast Sunlight

It takes a while
for milky corn flakes to turn mushy,

I brews more coffee
watch the sun
prying apart the plastic blinds
just with the power
of its is muscular light.

My black lab sticks a wet nose into my crotch.

Now it’s trying to sniff my backside
through the wicker seat of the chair
tail wagging happily.

By now the corn flakes
are just right.
Sunlight has come to rest
upon a countertop.

Content that his master
is as smelly as ever
the big dog relaxes
on the cool kitchen floor.

Temporary

I wake up a little groggy
the nights, especially, are difficult for me
I didnt get a whole lot of sleep
I wander my way wearily into the kitchen 
and reach my beloved coffee pot
The countertop around me has small circular brown stains.. each one containing a memory
Reminding me how it used to be
I blink the heartache from my eyes and go about my morning ritual
The sunshine pours through the window 
and the warmth sinks into my bones
I get lost in my thoughts Til’ the lush and irresistible aroma pulls me back to reality 
I pour myself a steaming hot cup of temporary happiness

Time Clack

Once upon a distant dream you were fit and lean.
Could eat almost anything. 
Slam drinks until the vampire's sunrise 
but still make the whistle on time.

Now your bloated mirror is the alpha enemy.
You need more naps than a colicky baby.
Even the flats seem like a steep climb uphill.
Your countertop flanked like a mountain of pills.
Some for the mind phantom.
Some for the real ailments.
Piggy backing doctors who don't interact.
it's no longer a balancing act.
it's a swarm of blood shot eyed jackals.
Waiting for your collapse.

Truth is, it didn't happen overnight.
It was a slow decline down a barbed wire slide.
A concoction of snake oil charmers 
Big pharma politicians.
Slippery salesmanship...lack of discipline.
Let us not forget about that sinister-sadistic - unforgiver!
                         Time.

Apple Pies

“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." Carl Sagan (1934-1996)

Apple Pies

A welcome task past wayward primes where plucked delights
yon mangoes, guavas, and papayas...
stands a Granny Smith apple tree.

Flour demonstrate a chopping board, rolling pin and
some countertop rests deep dishes packed midst
smooth dough amongst rooted chunks of butter,
few apples blended plus brown sugar, the rest sliced.

What is the stanch embodiment of a well-rounded kitchen's use?

Inventiveness, great apple pie.

2021 February 12

Morning Refelctions

It takes a while for corn flakes to turn mushy,
I brew more coffee
watch the sun opening the plastic blind
just by the power of its muscular light.

I’m jotting down a prayer.
The words are milky with no 
sharp edges to scratch my gums.

Jesus, who often takes possession of my black lab,
sticks a wet nose into my crotch. 
Thin pajama’s cannot withstand
a dogs wet nose for long.
Now it’s trying to sniff my backside
through the wicker seat of my chair
tail wagging.

‘Say something about the love
that passeth all understanding’
I hear a strangely canine voice intone
In the third person singular.

The dog sits now, looks at me intently
with deep round eyes.
The corn flakes are soggy already,
I dip a sugar coated spoon.

Sunlight rests upon a countertop
flexing and stretching
like the morning smile 
of a sleepy weight-lifter
or maybe a good-hearted hooker.

Eastern Orthodox Coasters

single malt sanity,  sanitized, ionized,
   with a little communion salt. 

sprinkle replace, sprinkle to taste,
sprinkle with haste to the holy face.

  yet still ground balsa wood icons
perfectly semitrical work to preserve
lesser linoleum countertop grains.

 Like in winona minnisota  where the midwest 
vacuum sealed religion remains intact.

renewed morning by morning
 by olive shaded stanley thermoses.

Displaced only on occasion by rubber 
gripped cellphones and coffee mugs.

winona Minnesota....

 where the Mississippi is the only
 true dialect. 

home to sugarloaf bluff and 
the basilica of saint stanislaus.

that lesser known bishop of krakow 
who may have been martyred  but first
 got stoned at fourteen underneath 
the sugarloaf.

See him now stacked up and slid down the bar
 the bishop of all cardboard regalia.

Holy under a golden pint ring halo of IPA..

Tongue Twister Time

Tongue Twister Time

There once was a Queen I  was told
had a passion for Quartz but not for gold
Her lust for the mineral 
To the point of being criminal
Left goldsmiths in awe of her quirky flaw
The King was appalled and told her to STOP!
We don’t need another countertop
So she gave up the quest
And decided to rest
And dropped the subject from her mind
Until Alabaster she came to find

QUIRKY QUEEN QUIT THE QUEST FOR QUARTZ

Tongue Twister Time Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose
November 9, 2016

Ants

To hell with them! I never think of them 
I forget they exist, until I spot them 
Then I get mad!

Oh yes, I loathe them so, as much as I do roaches
I loathe them so much I feel like screaming 
I wish I could urinate colonies of them off a log just for kicks

I never cared about their infinite diligence
They don't work for me anyway
And they sure don't work with me

I don't care that they carry off crumbs 
That break off my bread. They continually invade 
My home, overstaying their welcome. 

They invade my pantry to suck honey and sugar
They snake across my countertop when they smell the aroma of spilt coffee
I always spray them dead, but they eventually come back two-fold!

I hate that they're too tiny to see from a distance 
I take pleasure in crushing them under my thumb
Crawl far out of sight, you unsightly irritants!

And please, stop coming back for sweets!....


A Rant Poetry Contest/Winner(9th Place)
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date written and posted: 08/30/2016

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