Leftover Poems - Poems about Leftover

When my knitting queen aunt Feels that needlework pull, She starts knitting some squares Using leftover wool. They’re rectangles, really, With colorful stripes, Their patterns and stitches Of similar types. Then when there are enough, Using needle and thread, She will sew them together To cover a bed. If no blanket’s requested By someone she knows, To a charity’s stockpile That handiwork goes. Though some unattached pieces My aunt did...

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Peter (my bf) flew away early this morning, like Shakespear’s eagle, “leaving no tracks.” Now I lay here, as a leftover or Millais’ drowned ‘Ophelia.’ That’s an image ripped from adolescent, female visual culture. Time‘s adversarial magic drags us ever future-wise, eroding sweet moments we would cling to. Shall we poetize? I want a quiet afternoon, on the bright side of the moon. It’s...

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I like leftovers, especially when it comes to soup. Brought back by popular demand. They say that soup is better after it sits for a few days. Stewing in its juices, mixing time with truths. Reading poems by Famous Chefs I hope one day I too become. May we never turn to dust. Mixing ashes...

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Power and its greed ... Often drains humanity - Leaving a bare seed....

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I relished being hungry for leftover Thanksgiving pop slop gloppy grub (a poetic partial fiction blended, diced, fricaseed, marinated, mixed, pureed, sautéed, stewed... with fact) Hmm... on second thought lemme join anorexic club until rib cage protrudes taut and visible doubling as drum to drub synchronized within heart of darkness, especially when electrocardiogram exhibits absolute zero vital sign, cardiac arrest translates as cessation to lub...

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Leftover Tomorrows Not just the yin and yang of life Not just the perplexed and entangled Not even the esoterically amplified deviations Just the oxymoron nature of the beast It’s the fashion of ascending and escaping Of falling into the voids of the heart When love transcends into emptiness Our minds form designs to abstract To gain wisdom teased from agony From wakeful weaving...

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My mom had a dish she called leftover soup; I think it arose from World War Number Two, When nothing was wasted, when all was recouped. Sometimes it was creamy, sometimes like a stew. And all those jars in the back of the freezer? Into them went all of the leftover bits! No matter how odd or how much unrelated, Leftover veggies,...

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counting means ...relativity... as- integers to ...decimals... or- just meme ...thoughts... that- mirror some ...me-me... of- a relative metaphoric ...observation... theme- comparing standards ...labelled... individually as ...the-me... stans sand...

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Hmm... on second thought lemme join anorexic club until rib cage protrudes taut and visible doubling as drum to drub synchronized within heart of darkness, especially when electrocardiogram exhibits absolute zero vital sign, cardiac arrest translates as cessation to lub dub, hence yours truly declared dead as doornail, coroner report deems arrhythmia directly linkedin to deliberate Machiavellian flub courtesy the missus attempt to poison me actually aborted cuz nanobots loosed...

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Thus, methinks himself wise to don cooking apron please do not ask why trumpeting self as master chef boyardee so move over wife and allow husband to try his hand (using skill - let) me prepare Thai and/or other Asian cuisine dish, cuz when free to potschke (To fuss or "mess around" inefficiently and inexpertly), I haint shy to blend (indiscriminately) ingredients ofttimes yours truly barley...

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Always the plastic containers, leftovers maturing stacked in gelid wastes where pork slumbers among the peppers, chicken spooning with onions and cabbage. The polar remains of once tropical meals transformed into undocumented containers to be opened far too late. A curried hash so ad hoc that it could be the flotsam of a ravenous hurricane. Zipper bags squelch under groping hands, carefully wrapped comestible debris speaks...

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Love avenue shuffle spirits fandango through grave eyes of doubt on delusions of disorder when we kiss do dreamy clouds cuddle? Photonic warped thoughts feed on disdained mecurial clot eclipses tick tocking against organic time thieves, there's cerebral fury on medication row as rival consuls consort on succulent erotic painules--huddling under jagged mistletoe as bellicose vision fugitives plan placid avant garde getaways of broken glass and bloodless lips under...

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Leftover Willpower David J Walker I know I know What I said last night After the last bite of Turkey and dressing and Cranberry sauce and Pumpkin pie That I Would never eat again At least, not this much So much That it stretched my belly to New dimensions forcing me to Unbutton the waistband of my Khaki dress slacks I know I know How good it all was ...

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The door closed behind me With a sharp, curious noise I was looking bluntly…. Actually, looking for nothing. Conversations, simple, formal Some cliched paperwork… I was feeling sleepy, kind of numb Racing thoughts, awkward silence. Window glasses, scattered raindrops, An epic view of an off-peak outside world…. Where, at night, the street lights create an illusion, A very mystic dream of life. Beautiful faces, smiling, inspiring… Through a...

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Once, there was a father Who loved his children completely Nothing fractured or missing Withholding nothing for the greedy Everything flowed to and from Without interruption or wrinkle Til a child pulled back Creating a hold that crinkled ....into time For the first time, a new word appeared MINE, it is alllllll MINE Ownership grew quickly Separating LOVE from mankind Oh, how the father wailed and mourned But he...

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