Long Tables Poems
Long Tables Poems. Below are the most popular long Tables by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tables poems by poem length and keyword.
On the hives in color,
On the summer clothes,
On the tables and fruit,
I’m looking for it,
In the knotted buns,
On the wings of birds,
On the wings of hurricanes,
I’m looking for it,
On the surprised lemons,
On the necklaces of mothers,
On the turned over baskets,
I’m looking for it,
On the trust granted
With wheat and vines,
On your sunny skin,
I’m looking for it,
( to be continued)
Sur les ruches en couleur,
Sur les habits d’été,
Sur les tables et les fruits,
Je le cherche,
Dans les chignons noués,
Sur les ailes des oiseaux,
Sur les ailes des ouragans,
Je le cherche,
Sur les citrons étonnés,
Sur les colliers des mamans,
Sur les corbeilles retournées,
Je le cherche,
Sur la confiance accordée
Au blé et aux vignes,
Sur ta peau ensoleillée,
Je le cherche,
( à suivre)
Some people have jackets.
The jackets have wrinkles from sitting in the closet.
We have been trapped in our winter coats for so long.
The afternoon creeps in.
By then,
Some people don’t have jackets at all!
Their jackets are fluttering in their stern arms.
Windy but warm.
The wind is trying to eat up everyone’s hats off their head.
Restaurants are dusting off their patio tables.
The crowd is sitting and chatting outside,
Making spring complete.
Until tomorrow when winter returns.
Until tomorrow when the snow blows back in.
But for now, we are shedding our jackets.
On this Michigan February day.
Years have past but still can’t quell… won’t snub Orwell’s “the Moon under Water” pub as did cast a vast spell which did last….but pray tell what the hell should we call the restaurant of our dreams….which memes bestows seems to have all the right themes…glows how about “the Sunbeams below Sea”
Fables about higgledy piggledy chairs & tables
Cradles candles & scandals under their gables
Culinary cables run free no bland brand labels
Feast on every bit of the beast gourmet stables
Restaurant procured and manicured by a savant
Chef the ref hits the right clef is the commandant
An epicure tincture the cure for any bon vivant
An apothecary of wonders dispensed you adore
A third space with grace for either rich or poor
Service smooth as lace sings like a troubadour
Sweet as the smell after a downpour of petrichor
To attract and have a pact with every locavore
Delightful detour will always get highest score
Every encore makes sure come back for more
Beacon of light for us with appetite of a labrador
Another secret lover met palate whet paramour
The restaurateur not only a brassy raconteur
Flavour to savour taste bud flood provocateur
With bravura not bravado true entrepreneur
Not only an aficionado a classy connoisseur
Food looking pretty thanks to chef de partie
Maitre d’ quick with a ditty and slick repartee
Never sh*tty always a pity if they’re not witty
Cheer for every peer & the atmosphere is free
Sanctuary of treats from nearby streets so gritty
Harmonious not parsimonious not overly twee
Sybaritic symphony its rhapsody down to a tee
Glee of a miner finding gold & going on a spree
Umami tsunami a melody for my old china & me
Marvel at the majesty of a well woven tapestry
Pedigree and fancy free filigree the place to be
Treacle toned well honed academy of alchemy
Push the glutton button for a gourmands epiphany
Charms calms any qualms are like balms of apricity
Nowt finer for any city diner than elan & bonhomie
That it seems would be a restaurant of our dreams
Teems with reams of gleams “Sunbeams below sea”
Men in tailored suits
and satin waistcoats,
gold watches peeking
out of their pockets,
walked arm in arm
with women in wide skirts ~
hooped,
crinolined,
elegantly sculpted.
Their tight corsets tease each careful traipse,
leaving traces of elegance and opulence...
dotting the streets at Christmastime
with exaggerated silhouettes.
They kissed under mistletoe ~
hung in doorways,
each kiss claiming a berry
until none were left.
Saliva dried from whispered promises,
and crisper breaths.
When mouths moistened anew,
their laughter spilled under winter's sun,
burning with the thrill
of ice-skating parties.
Half-empty plates of Christmas pudding,
roast meats and other festive dishes —
littered Victorian tables,
attesting to well-fed tummies
and indulgent hearts.
Back home, the evening evened
with silent acting charades,
Blind Man's Bluff, Forfeits, and Snapdragon.
Pass the Slipper, Piggy Squeak, and Hunt the Ring ~
played near wood-burning fireplaces,
transformed by Christmas
into coziness, family warmth
and seasonal magic.
Christmas trees stood adorned,
strategically placed
to frisk each risk of its sly trick
that might sneak out
to steal away their joy.
When the gift boxes were opened,
the fiancé received
smoking caps,
shaving soaps,
and tobacco pouches.
The fiancée unwrapped
doilies,
silver tea balls,
and tea strainers ~
simple treasures exchanged
beneath candlelit ceilings
in that age of elegance,
where laughter and love lingered long,
like the scent of pine needles and roast goose,
long after Christmas Day had passed.
To her, their apartment was the whole world—a small but cozy place where she felt safe and loved.
It was early morning. She heard her sister squeal with joy hearing that schools would be closed today due to the heavy snowfall.
In her pink onesie pajamas, she shuffled across the speckled brown-and-gold carpet. It was worn and frayed in places but soft under her little feet. The living room was cramped, the walls filled with photos of a family's happy life. An old sofa was wedged between mismatched end tables and a wooden bookcase overflowing with encyclopedias. The plastic-lined cushions sagged from years of use.
A crack and stain on the ceiling traced where water had once leaked. The radiator clanked and hissed, making the windows sweat against the icy city air. She climbed onto the sofa. The plastic cold and squeaky beneath her pj's. Her small white footies barely reached the edge.
Their living room was everything—
a playroom, a dining room, and, on the coldest nights, a bedroom where they all huddled together when Mom turned on the oven for extra warmth.
Her pigtail tickled the back of her neck,
but her eyes stayed glued to the TV.
A gray rabbit with twitching whiskers dashed across the screen,
and a little man with a big nose and chubby legs was chasing after him, gun in hand.
Outside, snowflakes swirled around the window, piling in soft heaps on the fire escape.
She and her sister would make snowballs today
and lie in the snow laughing, making angels.
The smell of coffee, fried ham, eggs, and toast wafted from the kitchen.
She was looking forward to the delicious frosted sugary oat cereal
Mom would be preparing soon.
Dad had just walked in from work.
His usual booming voice echoing down the hallway. Mom’s quiet hush followed from the kitchen.
Everything was perfect. Everything in her little world. . .
Until she heard the gunshot—
and Dad lay dead on the kitchen floor.
In slumbering slope they lay,
their gaiety snores in rhythmic peaks of cadences,
The lily livered japes
Kings from central castings,
Heroes of one hour,
jostling for President with mere words
Resigned to bed now, save one.
Cowards, afraid of prison walls
seeking fame by fraud.
Oh Fame, how Disinterested
oh time, how revealing
motives concealed but not to all,
they were boys all along
impressing us by publicity
with drama for the surface
But the sternest stood alone
though jeered and calumniated, yet undeterred
taunted by the guns of the oppressors
marooned in their prison
confined to Abuja
denied of dignity
Yet his passion soars with coruscation of brilliancy
The quest for freedom stems from the heart
the cause for which he dared a tyrant
who sought a cause by a fraudulent jurist
to make him bend or make him bow.
unlike the cowards he never stooped,
he stirred the oppressed from their slumber,
and made some men by delayed revolution.
where are all the orators who came to bury Caesar by campaign?
They snore in the bedroom unaffected by the groaning of the people
some seeking publicity by suing twitter,
others purloining at the tables of business felons.
In the struggle for emancipation,
the boys are separated from the men.
Dedicated to Omoyele Sowore
The Nigerian Born Activist
who stood alone when other younger candidates resigned to fate after the fraudulent election that imposed Buhari
Thunder, high winds and rain
In disbelief, I watched it all while sitting in a moving train
The train chugged slowly along its route
I struggled to keep an eye on my sports bag with the stolen loot
Children were screaming when lightning struck
They hid under the tables, the best place for them to duck
On this scary journey, the train came off the tracks
People were thrown about like empty sacks
Compartments broke loose
Within seconds of the train hitting a large stranded moose
All seven carriages toppled over and many passengers were caught inside
Passengers were crying, badly injured and some even died
In the chaos, I searched for my money bag that I had dropped
And then it stopped
4/7/2017
Never bake them in an oven
That would be wrong
Making babies should never be a mistake
Rub two sticks together in a rainforest
Use a flashlight under the cover of night
If you get lost use matches not rocks
Babies hate rocks and friction
They prefer hugs and kisses
Don’t expect to discover them under cabbage leaves
If you find them dancing with leprechauns stop!
Take a picture and develop it in the womb
It is advised to use parents in making babies
Have them face in the same direction for best results
If you must use a parachute open it. Pull the cord
If you want babies to work get them visas
Give birth first. Cut the umbilical cord
And feed them soft foods. Avoid bazookas
Avoid contraception and asteroids from space
Hospitals are safer for the newborn
Babies come out easy on their own
The ones from Madagascar grow wild
Rumor has it they come from rubber trees
Some are on sale wrapped in plastic
Found in isle four at the supermarket
Because there is a clean up in isle sex….six
You cannot always believe what you read
Some say they come from factories in China
From under tables in Indonesia
From tanks in Afghanistan loaded with ammo
It is easier to make babies at home when you can
Behind closed doors and loud noises
We understand Madagascar has a sale on rubber walls
Which sounds delightful to install and to have more fun
And to protect the other children from sounds
From things they can’t understand
Making a baby is easier than you think
But you should do it before you sleep
the infatuation of my menstruation as you sit
and pout like this isn't living because yes
this is not your treasure for you irritate
the thought of innocent blood stained tears
are passed through my souls heart monthly
i weep through christ an yet you are envious
of my female purpose as god glides through me
as i'm not your wife for these are the times
of peace a sign that only mary could cease
to behold thy beauty covered in such reddness
for i shall not be vain as it rains and pours
the sadness from a fruitful tree that brings
life right on thy tables where you sit and stare
wondering if i shall break in all this wondrous
bloodied gift for can i be fooled right back after
this purification of thy body one in me with me
for will you hold my hand as i grieve the dead
babies blood shed of my blood or shall you
run out for more napkins as my grief too much
for you to bare as i bleed the blood of christ's care
written by Mrs. Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
i can’t complete a scene
no voices heard
in early years
i’d not retain
i’m all alone
i see it all -
school tables
the painting easel
the cardboard bricks
graham crackers and milk
i’d bounce along a truck tire -
sandbox of neighbor
ate cream cheese
& jelly sandwiches
on the braided rug
their mother crafted
but don’t recall
our conversation
life was quiet
i took it in
the subtle moods
and the trees
were always my friends
the breeze before the storm
the excitement as they whipped
and roared -
i retain this
the forest of my mind
tethered to sweet honesty
and honeysuckle scents
to loneliness
and friends
later I’d own a record player
go ‘round and ‘round with puppy love
and shake your booty
hang out with girlfriends
talking of spooky things and boys
i’d pack my bag
fly south in the Winter
take hold
of my seabag
go adventuring
searching for words
8/3/2022