Long Tablecloth Poems

Malnourishment is the song from the pans whose empty hold could offer no more products to be boiled and whirled. They were quite sad having been bought then hung. Hung. Sparkly signalling stale sales. Stale...

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The table is old and worn
nicks and scratches 
its red plastic tablecloth left over from a forgotten Christmas
its holiday pattern worn and forlorn
many a Thanksgiving dinner was hosted
the plump turkey as dry as yesterday

many wars...

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The mask, with eyes brighter than the most brilliant star, 
Reflecting the sunshine & blue Ocean beyond, his eyes twinkle 
He smiles, I am dazzled, hypnotised...almost 
Powerless I am drawn to him, he is the...

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It is an unseasonable March day.
My kitchen blinds are drawn against morning sun,
their slender slats like new skin protecting the body's vital organs;
eyelids before this rose-covered tablecloth as though the blooms
are the pale larvae of...

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A fat flat packed duck billed platypus was not on a platter. In fact it had escaped under a robe. With a robin. The robin was to be stuffed into a pigeon which was stuffed...

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I must confess that I once dreamt
Of a knight of noble honor
He existed in the first specs of my memory
Which grows weaker as my mind grows ever-expanding chasms.
He was there that day, in the field
When...

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Grey is ana in-between colour that is most secretive in a window smudge. But when the cleaning cloth arrived it simply disappears then reappears when the cloth has left. Thus leaving a very grey mass....

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Grey is an in-between colour that is most secretive in a window smudge. But when the cleaning cloth arrived it simply disappears then reappears when the cloth has left. Thus leaving a very grey mass....

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A weasel wibble wobbling can be said to have ingested copious amounts of indemonstrable indelible ink today as it soared into doorways, hallways, cloakrooms, and buffet tables. Buffet tables are neither buffaloes or bongos. In...

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A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives 
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink 
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck...

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Tough 

Your back is brittle, like time-greyed oak,
Curved like a bow,
The string constantly tight and ready.
The glare from your eyes:
Like cold steel.
The things that you do, 
Always securely perfect and correct.
Your voice strained 
Like a...

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My voice
Alive with tone
Yet sharply censored
By a mind's take on years
Of historical notes

Tongue no longer sweetened 
By optomism
Or spiced with
Mischievous humor
Suddenly all I taste is
So dry
So predictably dull

Night steps forward quickly
Like a woman whose
High heels...

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SHARING A PARK BENCH QUIETLY

Oh that?
That’s a relic representing recollections my mother’s had for years
A creation carved with creativity and counted among her most cherished possessions
It was designed during many consecrated conversations and sanctified sessions
Her...

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What should I get today,                                                  before we go for food we...

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nascent 
     dawn appears
kaleidoscope 
 of 
color
  midnight 
    sighs 
       leftovers 
        ...

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(This is not a poem but an exercise; I have posted it to show how I work on meter 
and rhythm. It is easy A to Z and keep the same foot through each line....

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the notorious hotel...
monument to the greed of men,
it is a breathing stone-hewn titan -
looming over her, threatening pomposity,
selfishness threaded with egyptian cotton,
the cold stares of people from the upper leagues of life...
yet the young street...

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line the ends
                                ...

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Goose and purple i saw it strung up in a window in chicago
I saw factories written in your eyelashes and hair and industrialization vomited 
Limp and edible bruised and calling
Geese sing every morning and they...

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Waking up, in a light gray four poster bed.
With flowers and ribbons, painted
on the ceiling above my head.
.
Satin slippers and a robe, so soft.
A young girl, I feel when I do recall......
Those decades ago, those...

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The clamor of an ordered life;
The ticking of a clock—
The babble of ambition;
The clatter of the day.
So for the sake of quietude
Traveled I alone, and far...

Spent I a winter’s night in the woods
To hear the...

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Growing up in Podunk Missouri,
meant that we had the freedom to roam.
Up and down rivers and wooded hills,
those places that we called home.

Picked berries, peaches, plums, and cherries,
and at least the ones that didn’t fill...

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Sleet clung to the eaves and dripped slowly down
As the mist laid a shroud on the face of the town,
And walking the main drag hill to the square,
I saw Icicles glisten from guttering, hung there
As...

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This is not Miami, the real site
of the sea grape.  This is a wannabe--
a biker town, a speedway town.  Not 
the fabled city of Dream Whip clouds
expressed into a flawless sky.  ...

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THE APPLES


Munching shiny apples from the fruit market    
We face each other without pretending,            
Our tablecloth of pure whiteness unmarked ...

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