Napkins Poems - Poems about Napkins

Fair legs aspire with striking delight. Spellbound and geared up to run to die. Firm sturdy steps leap to climb the treadmill. Eyes fixed and two hands pull the safety pin. Five minutes in, the sweaty minds unwind; Each second tick brings new heaves of relief. “Not so bad after all”, the mind secretes. “To the end of time would be a...

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The napkins were cut and woven in her dad’s barn that he and his dad built from the broken oaks. Each clump of cotton piled up in front of her Leave and left She thought The warp was fixed on her loom And that was easy because it stayed But the weft was the lateral thread that moved Leave and...

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Can napkins not esteem or honour a history of being placed gently on laps to catch, take hold of, what is carelessly spilled or dropped, used then to pat lips before being rumpled tenderly, after eating, and placed carefully at one's side? At a table in a bar, a paper napkin on my lap, I look at friends: they have their napkins sitting at the sides...

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A million lovers lines, unread on clever napkins The only kisses felt when a wiped face happens When I think of you, with tears streaming down my face It's because no one in this life or the next could ever take your place When a picture of you is all that, I have to remember How sweet your cheek feels...

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Paper napkins and plastic straws Ex-lax was a laxative I recall Bananas with black seeds Young folks saying please Things just seem to disappear Phone booths everywhere Merry Christmas said with cheer That corner fireworks stand Frying with lard from a tin can Things just seem to disappear Neighbors who are friends Promise kept by politicians News that actually informed Soft white bread wasn't scorn Things just seem to...

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Need paper day and night, nervous if out of sight, normally you stock up, not today out of luck, nature makes frantic call, no time to sit and bawl, napkins is next of kin. 4-30-17...

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I'm shuffling trays of food and placing them up front. I'm spilling on the way in stains I'll later hunt. I'm ever pinching napkins and wiping spots of sauce. Forever wiping up them so later I can toss. I've piled the garbage higher with sweet and sour rags. Left scrunched into a bow to finish them of drags. I'll order in more napkins to later fill the rack. But...

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She pressed on tightly Gripping her cloth Dusting all the dark Arranging all the packages She clutched at the years At all the stillborn frozen dinners Half parasitic blood She shrieked at allowance Thinking she could control A golden son she never knew Still, with her napkin She went to wipe his face Which had changed considerably Though she clutched the image of her baby Deathly afraid of loss Clinging...

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Plastic ware is fine Favorite restaurant to dine Hickory smoked swine...

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Box-tops, Napkins, Paper, and Old Mail… One thing for sure, listen, will you please? I do not write on tissue paper… sneeze! But write upon most anything… Not walls! My pen or pencil marks fulfilled flow falls. And anyplace will do to write away. In the moment inspiration comes to play, Revealing ever-poignant thoughts, words spanned. Whatever spark or flow falls to my...

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