Long Tablecloths Poems
Long Tablecloths Poems. Below are the most popular long Tablecloths by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tablecloths poems by poem length and keyword.
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
Spring things arrive, assaulting eyes unused;
Hollowed by a winter grey, whitened paint infused.
Bleeding sudden kaleidoscopes to landscapes,
Cacophonies of endless greetings, drowning pain
As nature comes with energies and hunger once again.
Along a garden wall in shades of many trees
Where grasses lean to show the shallows,
left by bended knees,
Winter mourns the missing; finding solace spring allows.
Into the blossoms of her bosoms’ bounty boughs.
Each year, the trees and grasses form a springtime here.
Shadows burst to life inserting wisdom to our trowels,
Flagstones, Breadcrumbs,
Streaks of dappled sun through arbor boughs.
Clouds of every nation’s hue, the garden wall allows.
Beneath the trees, along this wall,
Where mother earth colludes with all
To waken us again to waiting lives.
Where we will walk in morning light,
And say goodbye to Winter’s night.
Follow footsteps west, to trace the sun,
Feeling radiance shine on us as daylight meets us there.
Each mornings’ border brings a new frontier.
Where things are quiet, unborn yet of fear.
Finishings are left; beginnings yet to be.
New is all there is for us to see.
Eyes search skies of azure blue,
Ears detecting every clue.
Hearts wait here for birth of love,
A comfort known by few.
Upon a log with gnarled burls of hardened skin
We find a resting bench,
With green moss tablecloths
Grown from the earth
In its slow-moving wisdom,
This tree laid down its life centuries ago,
Knowing one day we would come,
To sit upon its broad back and learn that faith
Is sharing life through patience and sacrifice.
Nearby, the ocean waves create a spray
That towers over all, providing raindrops
Sent to splash upon the garden wall.
As dew drops form on maple leaves; so small.
Although each soul is born to different bendings,
Spring shall lend itself to form a call
New beginnings, giving birth to endings
That one day beckon every drop
To somehow find its fall.
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 heard of a Temper-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!
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 really be 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 us
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
The tempo of the music
adds energy to the rhythm of the night,
and the pulse of warm blood rushing through sinewy veins.
The mixture of perspiring bodies,
cheap perfume, and tepid whiskey adds a pungent aroma
that permeates even the tattered tablecloths.
The scene, obscured by dimness
and a haze that slowly envelops the dusty paper lanterns,
gives the room an eerie ghost-like glow.
Writhing, creeping forms
undulate, moving sensuously
to the repeated thumping of resonating bass strings.
The soulful melody of the saxophone
weaves its way over, around and through the crowd
as it playfully caresses the thick air.
Remote conversations and laughter
mix with bold encouragements from the crowd
as a lone dancer, with little effort, executes her sexy, sultry moves.
A breeze blows, ever so slightly,
as the door opens and more revelers enter the stifling room,
the lanterns swaying in the breeze.
A thin shaft of moonlight slowly creeps across the bare floor
as the aroma, the haze and the music
waft through the opening and into the rhythm of the night.
The Greek Taverna
Where can you be, dancer of my soul?
I want it be 1967 right now.
Where I can walk into the Minerva
Be seated by a handsome host,
And with my heart pounding..you are now walking towards me.
The red and white, checkered tablecloths -all fresh
My heart beating faster and
Sparkling like the cool ice on
your tray.
You warmly greet us in Greek
and give us the menu,
You knew I ordered Retsina always.
But you asked in hushed , musky and earthty tones,
"If I wanted some?"
I watched you walk away with your oh, so perfect Greek body,
Pressed black pants, red jacket and crisp, white shirt and perfectly polished shoes.
You return with Retsina, and it's my chance to order my dinner.
To let me seduce you with my brown eyes.
Yasou!
You always chose me first in any
Dance.
How could I refuse you?
I didn't know then, that the many times
We danced to Thessaloniki Mou
When You whispered "Agape mou"
in my ear.
It was not part of the lyrics.
I see decades later, it is not.
It's not too late for souls like ours,
For we are eternal, like sparkling stars!
We are bound by a spiritual creation.
And through silent nights we can
Still talk, kiss and hold one another..
In a musky moonlight
And a galaxy of a star sensation.
Forever,
Panagiota
I am not made for these modern times
Missouri mud runs through my veins
unspoiled country air flows through my lungs.
my roots are intertwined in the bedrock
of culture, traditions and folklore
of a pioneer Midwest
My heart beats with the rhythm
of wind through oak trees
the sway of golden wheat
steady fall of summer rain
on metal porch roofs
My voice is the sound
of pickup trucks on gravel roads
tractors plowing through gumbo
hoot of owls from leaning red barns.
yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from
across green pastures under full moon’s glow
trumpeting of roosters greeting the day
song of blue jays, cardinals,
red wing blackbirds
caw of crows pecking through early snow
on harvested corn fields
beat of horse hooves
lazy bawling of cows
My nostrils are filled
with the smell of
wildflower meadows,
fresh baled hay
alfalfa, soybeans,
and apple blossoms
I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve
coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches
family picnics on red checkered tablecloths
horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can
I am unlocked doors and open windows
rocking chairs and back porch swings
I am outdated
When I was growing up in Brooklyn,
Which was way back when,
We’d always get just what we needed
In the Five and Ten:
Cosmetics, stockings, pots and pans,
Greeting cards and games;
Curtains, tablecloths and vases,
Clothes and picture frames.
Sundries (who knew what they were?),
45’s and candy;
Mops and brooms and other things
A housewife would have handy.
It was fun to browse the aisles
With friends right after school,
And sometimes have a malted
Sitting on a fountain stool.
The Five and Tens have shut their doors;
New stores cannot compare.
I sometimes need an item
That I can’t find anywhere.
Of course, there is the internet
To help me in my search,
But in the Five and Dime, I’d never
Be left in the lurch.
colored craving things arrive
reaching tender to assault
eyes unused in wintered
hollow months
grey and white and plain
becoming sudden kaleidoscopes
bleeding into landscapes,
drowning pain
with cacophonies of endless greetings,
as nature emerges
with energies and hunger.
awakening to spring
and living now again
along a garden wall
in shades of many trees
where grasses lean
to show the shallows
left by bended knees,
winter mourns her missing
finds the solace spring allows.
each year, the trees and grasses
form a springtime here.
shadows burst to life
inserting wisdom to our trowels,
flagstones, breadcrumbs,
streaks of dappled sun through arbor boughs.
clouds of every nation’s hue
the garden wall allows.
beneath the trees along a wall,
where mother earth colludes with all
to waken us again to waiting lives.
where we will walk again
into the morning light,
allowing the night
to pass over us.
we follow our footsteps west,
facing the sun, feeling its radiance upon us
as the kiss of day meets us there.
each morning, the border of a new frontier.
where things are quiet, unborn of fear.
finishings are left, beginnings yet to be.
new is all there is to see.
eyes searching skies here,
ears detecting clues.
hearts wait here
for the birth of their comfort.
upon a log
with gnarled burls
of hardened skin
we find a resting bench,
with green moss tablecloths
grown from the earth
by a slow-moving wisdom,
providing reflection,
this tree laid down its life centuries ago
knowing one day we would come
to sit upon its broad back
and learn that faith
is sharing life
through patience and sacrifice.
nearby, the ocean waves
create a spray that towers over all.
providing raindrops
sent to linger on the garden wall.
dew drops form on maple leaves;
however small.
although each soul is born to
a different medium,
spring shall bend itself to form a call
of new beginnings
giving birth to endings
that will one day
beckon every drop to find its fall.
4th of July
Carnival magic
On the town “square”
Parade for the kids
Crepe paper bike spokes
Goats dyed pink by my Aunt Marjorie
Small town America
Fresh corn on the cob
Oozing with butter
Red and white checked plastic tablecloths
Blowing off picnic tables.
Cold watermelon slices
Pink cotton candy and warm funnel cakes
Joyful screams from carnival rides
Docile ponies for the three-year-olds
High school band
Concert in Gazebo
Sweat running down their backs
Children exhausted
Falling asleep on blankets
As the firemen set off fireworks at the park
Everyone leaves smiling
Perfect 4th of July
Just like last year