Long Tabletop Poems
Long Tabletop Poems. Below are the most popular long Tabletop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tabletop poems by poem length and keyword.
I was a simple picture of a person,
just a gulp of a guy.
She was not my first girl; she was the second.
It was a Dairy Queen date,
banana milkshakes, me tanking-up on her foggy
eyes,
imagining her naked foggy
female body parts.
It was then that she abruptly
slammed her wet wriggling mind
down on to the plastic tabletop.
A floppy mind it was, with no brains
and no bones.
Her fishy mind edged closer to me
as if wanting to be fed. I fled.
That night I dreamed of her bubbly wet kisses
flying like manta rays
above the rooftops of our town
seeking out foggy young men
to puddle with.
There are certain smells, sights,and tastes,
which will always remind me of Grandma.
The yellow of freshly molded butter;
thin, floral china tapping on a white porcelain tabletop;
the frail softness of my own thin skin,
veined now with the tracery of hard work,
Mother’s work, like her hands were.
Rows of gladiolas bright, so bright
in the warm August sun of Maine
lined up like the Crayola crayons;
she always had waiting for me.
The sweet, strong, scent of onions
sizzling in a black cast iron fry pan.
Red-blue, blue-black, venison
popping in her homemade butter.
All memory of the deer,
who gave its all for our meal, past.
The acridly sweet smell of propane gas,
from a kitchen stove,
mixing with the wood smoke and soot
from the living room heater.
Even pennies make me smile,
and remember Grandma.
As I sat on the scrap wool hand-braided rug,
at five, counting the coppers,
she had saved for me!
Books! The joy of a hard cover,
pictures laced with Jesus and Moses.
Tales of God and the little children;
but God was not my world, Grandma was.
The softness of her bosoms, as she held me.
The black mesh netting, that held her silvered-black hair.
How she held my small hand on wood walks.
Lady slippers, acorns, pug noses…
Dandelion yellow, fried dandelions,
hand dropped fat-fried doughnuts,
and the tang of Winesap apple,
Apple vinegar.
Grandmother never leaves me;
I hold her near my heart
To MY bosom, always, where she held me.
Butter the toast, butter knife, bread.
blue plate, no sunlight, short-sighted blue night,
electric rings of silence.
Breakfast is slow,
not that hungry but there is honey
and I am lonesome in a tired body.
Soon, hands will press the tabletop,
will rise up, push up to lace-up walking shoes,
enter the coming light
that unsteady, unready light
with its slippery yo-yo gleams,
enter it all; the concrete hills,
the leaf and branch, the cast-up legs
of the still twitching,
the buoyant tumbling of the living,
the pumped-up throats
of the starry-eyed singers,
enter it fully, growing less unlikely,
enter myself as an unrepentant prodigal son
returning home.
An utterly Useless Tale
On a big round oak table in a living room, a vase, in its small crack, lived two house ants. They were sitting outside, considering a box of matches on the tabletop.
“if the box was empty, I’m sure I could push an inch or two the first and said. “Yeah,” the other snorted.
A man came into the room, took a matchstick out of the box, and put it back on the table, this time by its edge, and walked out.
The first ant giggled and said, “If we both push the box, it will fall on
the floor, no one will know how it ended there.”
They traversed the vast expanse of the table, pushed the box off the table, hurried back into their crack, and laughed heartily.
They had been frightened
people usually kill house ants at first
sight. The man came back, saw the box on the floor, shook his head, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. Our ants were in stitches
They were tempted to push the box on the floor again
but gave it up, the risk someone could come in with a duster
was too great
Back at their crack, they went to sleep
Pile drivers have replaced gandy dancers
And Mayflower trucks the circus, open-cage parades
Horse drawn down Main Street U.S.A.,
But overnight canvas bosses still command
Roust abouts to raise big top sails,
Over decks of prairie dogs and tumbleweeds.
There are gaudily painted juggernaut ride machines.
Smells of grease, heated white from oozing knuckle joints,
Calliopian music and rounds of happy screams.
A carney operator offers two a Scrambler car,
Teases riders with the tip of his bitten off cigar
A flick on your nose and ash that crashes to the circus grounds.
Jukebox music by Wurlitzer gets tinny with distance
On both sides of musty tented, kid show exhibitions
Mushrooming quiet translucent, sideshow shadow lands.
One sign says:
A WOMAN’S LIVING HEAD!
And inside there is a severed head up on a tabletop.
She answers questions easily, smiles and winks.
A kid shill says she’s doubled up
Inside a box affixed with mirrors.
Our cheeks redden more for her
Than the fact that we are led astray ourselves.
We leave to let more unenlightened in.
That day, I left forever past free throws
To win erstwhile girlfriends
By shooting hoops too narrow to be made. (4/4/21)
Scrubbing dishes in a cold kitchen,
on a tabletop rats nibble
through a leather bible cover.
She turns,
a lock of sweat matted hair over one eye,
shakes a red knuckle at a wailing child
sat on the floor by the door.
When Mary, in washed-out despair,
leaves, she leaves a bible, the rats
and a child there.
Mary drying his feet with her hair.
Mary at the temple calling for him.
Mary full of sperm on a street corner.
Mary full of a Grace,
a face that makes her invisible
to rabid dogs and drinking men.
I want to put all of Her together
old and young,
fat Mary on roller skates,
sweet Mary sucking candy,
badly handled and shady Mary,
to speak now for all the wet and dry virgins
slobber some words from a beaten heart,
for all the mother’s, all the worshiping foot washers;
a patchwork Mary, a working Mary.
Let us adore her from an upstairs room
where the cockroaches scuttle near
having no fear. if we don’t,
she might one day castrate us with a steely smile.
Today I walked for Mary,
the sky was a blue egg, robed with light.
I ate a chicken sandwich, lips slick with grease.
In the Chick-fil-A a family was praying over their fast food.
The joint was hopping
kids scooting in and out of seats.
A dozen Mary’s were trying to corral them,
get then to be nice like Christ.
Later I spoke to her at the foot of a crucifix,
told her all my s..t,
felt better, a kind of peace,
knowing she knew all the things I do in the dark
when she comes to me for forgiveness and rest.
I make the sign of the cross,
I make the sign of the cross.
I mean why not?
To have my cake and eat it too
The best of both with no adieu
Pint sized comforts, nestled in
Where personal space is growing thin
Amongst the city that never sleeps
Behind four walls, no one peeps
A Consistently unconventional land
Safety first, but nothing bland
Taking only what we need
Skim illustrations, don't read
Why not, have it all
Forget the rules. Play ball
A boldly tasteful discoloration
Sweet apple pie, tobasco blend
A tabletop dance
Following tea
Steamy romance
Without the ring
All of the shimmer
Nothing mundane
A life giver
Pleasure, no pain
Spring rain was forecast, and it came.
It ran out of the sky,
it felt like millions of sloppy puppy kisses
a warm wetness just so happy to lick the earth
and the bald spot on the top of my head -
happy to run down
under my collar,
down my back,
just so happy
to trickle about
until
I have to run into the store
thinking to buy an umbrella,
but end up
just buying a bunch of tall purple Gladioli,
because you love them,
and you are just so happy
to watch their fairy-tale big-hat blooms
fill up with water
and then bend their giraffe necks
to pour the water out
as dozens of Gladioli mulled droplets
running about on the tabletop,
all of them just so happy
to be playing with your glad fingers.
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecake - oh yum!
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruing his fate
while squarely planted on me bum
disheveled and unshaven,
whereby gray stubble encrusted
with wayward synonymous days old crumb -
after wolfing delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
argh... my poor tum.
ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert
courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.
Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.
If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
to signal an SOS.
If left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would ejaculate
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said greens with wild mushrooms.
I was a simple picture of a person,
just a gulp of a guy.
She was not my first girl; she was my second.
It was a Dairy Queen date,
banana milkshakes,
me tanking-up on her foggy eyes,
imagining her naked muggy
female parts.
Then that she abruptly
slammed her wet wriggling mind
down on to the plastic tabletop.
A floppy thing it was, with no kapok
or bitty bones.
Her fishiness edged closer to me
as if wanting to be fed. I fled.
That night I dreamed of her bubbly wet kisses
flying like manta rays
above the rooftops of our watery town
seeking out soggy young men
to puddle with.